


Whumptober 2018

by Proudmoore



Category: Almost Human, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Shadowhunters (TV), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Supergirl (TV 2015), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Anthology, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Reader Insert, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 09:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 25,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16678792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Proudmoore/pseuds/Proudmoore
Summary: A collection of whump ficlets from various fandoms written for Whumptober on Tumblr.





	1. Star Trek AOS / Scotty x Reader / Stabbed

It’s nearly pitch black aside from the faint glowing of various buttons and keys on the console at the far end of the room and the strobing of red lights overhead as emergency klaxons sound in the bowels of the ship. The Enterprise is under attack and your breath comes short as you think back to the last time you’d seen everything in such disarray, to Krall and his henchmen gutting the ship, razing your home. 

“C’mon,” Scotty barks, running up behind you.

His hands on your shoulders are startling but grounding. It takes you a moment to get your legs to cooperate but you do eventually, stumbling awkwardly as Scotty hurries you down the hall toward the shuttle bay. Engineering has been cleared save for the two of you. All that stands between you and salvation is a trip down the hall and up two decks to a waiting escape pod.

Scotty sticks close to you as you make your way through the debris-strewn hallway, sparks shooting from frayed wires and overloaded electrical panels all around you. For all the noise, the ship is eerily quiet, its very heartbeat silenced by the failure of the warp core, its ever-present hum strikingly absent.

A silhouette appears at the end of the hallway you’re heading down and Scotty curses. He tugs you into a nearby Jefferies tube. You trip over the lip of the door, colliding with him as the panel slides shut behind you two. His arms encircle you, keeping you upright as you nearly topple over.

“Sorry about that,” Scotty says quickly. “We’ve got to keep moving.”

You nod wordlessly and make your way through the Jefferies tube. You’re thankful for your familiarity with the ship’s hidden passageways as it’s nearly too dark to navigate by sight and so you’re working intuitively. Scotty stays so close that you can feel the heat radiating off of him against your back. He keeps one hand on you at all times, steadying you and helping you over some obstacles in your path.

You reach a ladder and Scotty spots you as you start the climb. The turbolifts are out of order and the hallways are unsafe, so climbing is your only way to safety. Your knuckles start to ache as you grip the rungs tightly, ascending the full two floors to the shuttle bay. 

It’s still and silent in the bay as you and Scotty emerge from the Jefferies tube, all nonessential personnel already having been evacuated and the few others undoubtedly in their departments doing last-minute checks for anyone who might be trapped. Pausing for a moment, you ensure the coast is clear before darting ahead toward the remaining escape pods.

You feel Scotty fall behind at the same moment that you hear a feral roar. Glancing around you watch in horror as one of the attacking aliens pounces on the chief engineer, pulling him back and onto the blade of a large, lethally-sharp knife. His eyes widen on contact with the blade and he lets out a strangled yell of agony. 

The attacker pulls the knife back and Scotty drops to the floor, trembling. The acrid scent of burning wiring takes a back seat to the sudden tang of copper that engulfs you as Scotty bleeds. You lunge for him but nearly find yourself run through with the blade, too. Tears threaten as you hold up your hands in surrender.

“Please,” you cry, locking eyes with the alien standing over Scotty’s writhing form.

The attacker’s aggression doesn’t waver. He growls, brandishing the blade at you, stepping over Scotty’s fallen form. You stumble backward to get away. He closes in on you, his steps wider than your own, and raises the knife to your throat. You shut your eyes tightly and jump as you hear the familiar sound of a phaser bolt being discharged in the room around you. A heavy thud echoes at your feet.

You open your eyes to find the attacker collapsed, unmoving, before you. You glance up as footsteps echo nearer to you, locking eyes with the ship’s chief of security.

“You need to get in a pod,” he says firmly.

You shake your head.

“I can’t leave him,” you say, gesturing to Scotty.

You drop to your knees beside him, cradling his face in your hands. He’s still awake but disorientated, his eyes glassy. You can feel cooling, sticky blood soaking into your uniform from the floor beneath you.

“Stay with me, Monty,” you plead. “Hang in there.”

As you fight to keep his attention, the security guard barks something into his comm. His hands are on your shoulders, pulling you back, urging you to your feet. You strain against his hold.

“I’m not leaving him!” You shout as the guard manhandles you toward a nearby pod. “No!”

The guard cites some sort of Starfleet directive as he straps you into the pod. You continue to pull at the straps as he shuts the door but the safety lock on the belts engages instantly. The last thing you see before the pod is jettisoned from the ship is another guard kneeling next to Scotty, scooping him up. A tear rolls down your cheek as you fall through empty space.

“I love you, Monty,” you whisper. “Please don’t leave me.”


	2. Star Trek AOS / McKirk / Bloody Hands

There’s always so much blood.

In the back of his mind, Leonard knows that it looks like more than it is, but any blood spilled carelessly, needlessly, is too much.

Especially when it’s Jim’s.

He keeps his eyes trained on his hands, on the forceps, the needle driver, the suture thread that he’s manipulating with the glinting instruments. He keeps his gaze on things he knows he can control, because he knows that if he stares too deeply into the cochineal pooling around his hands faster than Chapel can suction it away he’ll lose his calm.

Damn it, Jim.

The kid’s bleeding so much it’s a miracle that his vitals are holding and Leonard refuses to tempt fate by allowing himself to feel any amount of relief. He works meticulously, methodically, tying knots and cutting thread, keeping up the dance of instruments meant to keep Jim from dying. It’s all he can do until they close Jim up and roll over into a whole other kind of waiting game, dodging specters of infection and breakthrough bleeds.

Leonard is focused. He’s angry. Most of all, he’s terrified.

Under the blue-white operating lights, Jim looks far too pale, too vulnerable. Leonard exchanges a glance with Christine and the confidence in her expression does nothing to reassure him. 

He ties off the final stitch and pulls back, waiting, waiting. 

Christine suctions the remainder of the blood in Jim’s abdominal cavity. Jim’s organs are pink and healthy; he’d gotten to the OR in time to spare them, at least. Everything is intact and where it should be, and Leonard takes a moment to breathe before closing up.

The minutes and hours that follow the surgery are the longest Leonard’s ever experienced. He says that every time Jim’s in recovery, of course, but each time it seems the seconds tick by more slowly, the clock’s hands stalled by gnawing, relentless uncertainty.

By the time Jim’s eyes open, Leonard’s have closed against his own sheer force of will. Exhaustion has won out over his desperation to see Jim wake up. Jim is loathe to disturb him both because he knows how much Len needs the sleep and because he’s wary of the wild flurry of emotions the doctor will experience once he’s satisfied Jim is alive and well. 

He disturbs Len anyway, knowing it’s the lesser of two evils. Letting him sleep any longer will only incite anger, too.

Leonard is alert the moment his eyes open.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks, affixing an expression of stoicism that he doesn’t feel.

Jim watches him hover, hands moving, eyes scanning the bio bed’s readout, assessing, examining, reassuring himself. He knows better than to make a fuss when Leonard is in this kind of headspace. 

“Like I got run through with a spear,” Jim replies tiredly, licking his parched lips.

Christine’s at his side with ice chips seconds later as Leonard continues his doctoring.

“Well you very nearly did,” Leonard murmurs, tapping away at his PADD, tracking Jim’s condition. “Your liver took the worst of it. You’re lucky I like puzzles, else you might’ve wound up missing a few pieces.”

Jim winces inwardly, masking his reaction with a groan of discomfort as he shifts around. Chapel’s there in an instant, ahead of the curve with a shot of analgesic right into Jim’s IV port before Len can even write the order. They make an amazing team.

“Thanks, Bones,” Jim says softly, averting his gaze.

For saving his life, for putting him back together again, for going above and beyond in the line of duty, for having to watch yet again as Jim’s body fought to cling to life. Thanks isn’t enough, it never can or will be, but it’s all he has. He can’t promise it won’t happen again; he doesn’t have that luxury. He can’t even promise that he’ll be careful next time because when it comes to the lives of his crew and the safety of his ship, everyone and everything else is a second thought. He hates that Bones knows that, but his lover never complains. Drowns his feelings at the bottom of a bottle sometimes, but he keeps quiet. Jim has no idea how he got so lucky.

“Don’t mention it,” Leonard waves him off. “Someone’s got to keep you alive so the admiralty can tell you how stupid you’ve been. Again.”

Jim smiles at that.

“Trust you to save my bacon when there’s a lecture involved,” Jim teases weakly.

Leonard sets his PADD aside, dropping exhaustedly into the chair at Jim’s bedside and reaching out to link his fingers with the younger man’s. His gaze flickers briefly to the bio bed’s display again, analyzing the numbers there. Jim’s heart rate is steady and his blood pressure stable, which is far more than Leonard can say for his own. Sometimes he thinks he’s getting too old to watch Jim throw himself headlong into danger all the time, but as the strength of Jim’s grip on his hand starts to reassure him just the smallest bit that things are going to be okay the thought dissolves away to nothingness. As he looks into Jim’s bright, blue eyes, he knows that no amount of pain and suffering over Jim’s close calls will ever be enough to break him.

“I love you,” Leonard murmurs quietly.

Jim yawns widely, the painkillers making it ever-harder for him to stay awake.

“I love you, too, Bones.”


	3. Star Trek AOS / Scotty x Reader / Insomnia

You stare at the rivets in the bulkhead above your bed, nuts and bolts nestled securely in each one and holding the ship together around you. You’ve been lying awake in the near-complete darkness for so long that your vision is as sharp as it is in daylight. Even the familiar, distant hum of the warp core isn’t a good enough lullaby to help guide you into sleep.

Turning your head, you stare at the small pill bottle on your bedside table. The first dose of the sedative has failed you and you ponder taking a second one. Dr. McCoy’s voice comes back to haunt you, however, talking of side effects and addiction, and you quickly think better of it. No sense in tempting fate; what’s one more sleepless night?

Minutes go by, your frustration mounting. They turn to hours and your upset claims you, tears streaming from your eyes and soaking into the pillow under your head. You toss and turn in a desperate attempt to get comfortable but it’s to no avail. You kick the blankets away, overheated from all of the commotion. A noise beside you garners your attention.

“Are you awake?” Scotty asks quietly, his tone laced with some amount of confusion.

You consider staying quiet a moment as not to worry him, but a soft sniffle escapes you.

Scotty’s instantly at your side, propped up on one elbow, squinting at you through the darkness.

“Are you alright?” He whispers, clearing his throat. “What’s wrong?”

You sigh, meeting his gaze.

“I can’t sleep,” you say flatly, trying and failing to keep the waver out of your voice.

He gropes blindly through the darkness, his touches hesitant and careful until he’s sure he’s cupping your cheek properly. He strokes a thumb gently just beside your eye, wiping away some of the tear tracks there.

“This isn’t the first night, is it?” He asks gently, shifting so he’s closer to you.

You shake your head and feel Scotty press a kiss to your temple. His arm wraps around your waist, his fingertips absentmindedly stroking your hip.

“Have you been to sick bay?” He queries further.

“The medicine isn’t working tonight,” you reply. “I feel like my skin is crawling, like I can’t lie still. I’m never going to get to sleep.”

Your tone gets increasingly more hysterical with every word and you can feel yourself trembling. Your chest feels tight, like you can’t breathe, and you start to panic a little. Scotty is right there, though, shushing you softly, reaching up to smooth a hand down along your arm in easy, rhythmic strokes.

“I’ve got you,” he assures you. “I’m right here. You’re alright.”

It takes a few minutes, but soon his soothing touch starts to ease your anxiety. Your trembling begins to subside and your breathing comes easier. He continues murmuring wordless reassurances against your temple and you feel the tension start to leave your body. Eventually you find yourself starting to feel sleepy. The thought that morning must be near still looms over you, but you figure that some sleep is better than none at all and you let your eyes fall closed.

As slumber starts to claim you, softening the edges of reality, you hear Scotty start to hum a soft tune. It’s unfamiliar but distinctly soothing and you sag into the mattress beneath you, letting go of the last of your frustration.

As you drift off, Scotty continues the humming in hopes that you stay asleep. Once you start to snort softly, he reaches for your comm and disables your alarm. As brilliant as you are at your job, Scotty knows that you need the sleep more than the Enterprise needs you for a day.


	4. Star Trek AOS / Mirror Jim Kirk x Reader / "No, stop!"

He looks just like your Jim, but that’s where the similarities end. He smells like copper, like the rivers of blood he’s undoubtedly spilled in his lifetime. His hands are callused and too-hot, his hold on you firm and forceful. You toss your head as his face looms closer, desperate to keep as far away from him as you can. His palm wraps around your neck, fingers pressing firmly into your carotid arteries and making your head ship. You gasp in an attempt to breathe through his grip.

“No, stop,” you beg, your voice reedy.

You avert your gaze from his as if it’ll help you out of your current situation, your focus falling on the insignia of the Terran empire on his chest. You’ve only ever seen it in history books before and the stories you’ve read about its people are horrific enough that there’s no room for rational thought in your frightened mind.

“And why would I do that?” Captain Kirk asks, his expression cruel, his voice cold.

You swallow thickly but the saliva gets caught in your throat, the pressure on your larynx too much for you to be able to swallow. You cough and sputter, a fine mist of spit wetting the captain’s face as it hovers near yours. His expression turns to disgust and before you know it you find yourself being thrown unceremoniously to the floor. You gasp as a white-hot shock of agony goes through the wrist you land on and throw an arm over your head in an attempt to prevent any further attacks.

“Please,” you beg as two security officers pull you to your feet by the back of your tunic. “Stop.”

“I asked you a question,” he says flatly, clearly bored of your refusal to answer the first time. “Answer me and I won’t have any reason to hurt you.”

You shake your head.

“I don’t even know how I got here,” you say shakily, pulling against the hold the guards have on you. “I just want to go home. I want nothing of you.”

You watch as the Jim look-alike pulls a small device off of his belt. You recognize its shape from the textbooks, too, and you press backward against the hands holding you in an attempt to get away from it. The captain closes in easily, though, and holds the agonizer up in your line of sight.

“Last chance,” he says icily. 

You shake your head, tears welling in your eyes as you watch his expression darken and become frustrated. He steps into your personal space, reaching up and pressing the agonizer to the skin of your neck. 

The pain is instantaneous.

The sensation of agony that goes through you is so acute and all-encompassing that your vision whites out. You can feel yourself trembling as you hit the floor, every muscle seizing up as each nerve ending buzzes with an intense electricity. Everything around you slowly fades away as the pain becomes your entire world, and though you hope you’ll lose consciousness soon to escape the pain there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight.

You’re not sure how much time goes by; the pain has caused the minutes to blur and blend in to one another. Eventually, though, the agony stops. At first you think it might be your imagination as your synapses continue to fire from the sensory overload, but eventually you slump to the floor in a limp, exhausted heap, your vision fading to a dull gray. 

There are hands on you. 

Soft, familiar, warm.

“Jim,” you croak, your voice barely a whisper.

“I’ve got you, sunshine,” he says softly, though his tone carries an undercurrent of urgency.

His voice is nearly indistinguishable from that of his counterpart and you tremble a little, your heart racing furiously. You listen to him bark orders to his crew, your crew, and try your best not to flinch as he gathers you into his arms. Though limited, your experience in the Terran empire has left you shaken and though you trust your Jim implicitly, a part of you remains detached, unable to feel the same comfort and familiarity in his embrace that you once did.

As golden transporter tendrils wrap around you, you reach up and palm the now-defunct agonizer still embedded in your neck, just in case.


	5. Star Trek AOS / Jim Kirk x Reader / Poisoned

The pain is like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

The weight of the arrow in your shoulder pulls against the wound edges, causing a fresh shock of agony to pulse through your arm with each step that you take. It’s almost blinding and you find yourself slowing down, lagging behind as Jim dashes through the underbrush ahead of you. It doesn’t take him long to notice that you’re falling back, though, and he’s back at your side in an instant.

“We’ve got to keep going,” he says urgently. “We’re almost there.”

You nod, tears prickling at your eyes. Reaching across your body, you try to brace the arrow. Jim notices how much you’re struggling, his expression turning pensive. Your combined harsh breathing is the only sound you hear for a moment as Jim assesses the situation. You flinch unconsciously as he reaches toward the arrow.

“This is going to hurt a bit,” he says apologetically. “But it’ll help, I promise.”

You nod, shutting your eyes tightly as you feel Jim grasp the shaft of the arrow. He braces his other hand around the entry wound, holding the arrow firmly in place while snapping it off near the head. You cry out at the searing pain that flares in your shoulder, biting your lip to choke back a sob as Jim releases you. The wound does, admittedly, feel somewhat better with less arrow sticking out of it.

“Come on,” Jim says hurriedly, climbing to his feet and holding a hand out to you.

You pull yourself up with your good arm and stumble alongside him as he pulls you toward the pickup locating, the shouts of the planet’s native peoples echoing closer again after your brief break from running. Your chest aches and your head starts to spin as you pant, desperately trying to breathe as you keep up, and within a minute or two you’re running into a clearing. There’s a waiting shuttle in sight.

You all but collapse into your seat as the two of you stumble inside, the engine coming to life to spirit you away to safety. You grit your teeth in agony, writhing around in an attempt to get comfortable. Jim leans over to buckle your harness for you.

“How’re you doing?” He asks, his brilliant blue eyes scanning your features.

“Hurts,” you hiss, opening your eyes only to find the room swimming before them. “I don’t feel so good.”

“You did good,” Jim affirms, reaching over to take your hand, giving it a squeeze.

The shuttle lifts off and you cling to him tightly, the wound in your shoulder burning more and more with each passing minute. A fine sheen of perspiration breaks across your forehead and you pull your hand out of Jim’s grasp, reaching clumsily for the zipper on your jacket. There’s a heat starting to burn up inside you and you feel your stomach starting to churn with nausea.

“Something’s wrong,” you croak, tossing your head. “Jim, I don’t feel right.”

You hear fabric rustling and a harness being unclipped. Jim is crouching in front of you in moments, reaching up to cup your cheek. His hand moves from there to your forehead and a quick glance at him reveals a concerned expression on his face.

“You’re burning up,” he says with a frown.

His attention turns away from you briefly as he crosses the shuttle to retrieve a first aid kit. You moan softly in pain as he pulls out a pair of shears and starts to cut away the fabric around your wound. He peers closely at the puncture mark as he exposes the area, gently dabbing at the wound with a piece of gauze.

“I think that arrow is coated in something,” he says, cursing softly. “We’ve got to get you to sick bay.”

You blink as the lights around you start to seem too bright. There’s a ringing in your ears, too, and your skin starts to prickle. Your heart’s racing in your chest as your head starts to loll.

“Y/N,” Jim says firmly, shaking you gently by the uninjured shoulder. “Stay with me.”

One hand keeps your head up as the other searches for your pulse, too fast and too frantic against his fingertips. You hear him shout something about patching him through to medical, but it’s the last thing you catch as darkness claims you and you start to seize, the poison on the tip of the arrow claiming your consciousness.


	6. MCU / Loki x Reader / Betrayed

Your heart pounds as you walk at Loki’s side, a palace guard leading you down a long hallway of innumerable turns. You’re so turned around that you’re certain you’d never be able to find your way out of the maze if you were to bolt, and you’re sure that’s a security measure in and of itself. 

You’ve never been to Hnitbjorg before, and the reception you and Loki had received on arrival has you feeling wary. The giants don’t seem too enthused to have you in their midst, and the guards had oddly little to say when Loki explained that you were there to see Suttungr. You’re well aware he’s not a popular man by any stretch of the mind, but even so the reception is less than welcoming.

The two of you are led through an unimaginably tall set of wooden doors and into a throne room with a breathtaking mural on its floor. It’s nearly as impressive as the throne room in Asgard and your attention is momentarily diverted away from the giant seated at its front and center.

“Loki Laufeyson,” the giant bellows, his voice echoing off of the walls around you. “What is a messenger of the Aesir doing in my kingdom?”

Loki bows low to the ground, not sparing you so much as a glance as the giant commands his attention.

“Suttungr,” Loki says in a reverent tone. “We are here to offer an apology on Odin’s behalf.”

The giant laughs, the sound shaking you to the very core.

“An apology will not return the mead he stole,” Suttungr says coldly.

Loki smiles and it looks pained. He squeezes the hand of yours he’s holding and you can feel the familiar chill of his touch even through your leather gloves.

“In exchange for what was so precious to you, Odin is offering something that is precious to him,” Loki say smoothly.

You frown at his words. You knew aught of your mission before coming to Hnitbjorg, and his words surprise you. You wonder what it is he’s brought, whether it’s small or glamored to be hidden from view. You also wonder why Odin didn’t tell you of the mission himself.

Suttungr considers Loki’s words for a few beats.

“I will consider it,” Suttungr says eventually. “In the meantime, you will wait in my guest quarters.”

It’s not a question and Loki nods, offering a quick thanks as the guards approach again to escort you out of the throne room. They lead you down more twisting hallways before showing you into a sparsely decorated room with no windows. It feels more like a prison cell than a guest room, but the two of you step inside nevertheless. You turn to face Loki as the door shuts behind you.

“What kind of peace offering have you brought?” You ask.

“Nothing of any real importance,” Loki replies evasively. “Nothing Odin will miss.”

Something about his dismissiveness makes you uneasy, but you shrug it off. 

For the next hour, you pace the room. Loki attempts to get you to have a seat with him more than once, but you’re too restless. You miss the fresh air and lively energy of Asgard; being held captive in a draughty, dingy fortress is putting you on edge. Even the soft, soothing tendrils of Loki’s healing magic do little to ease your unrest. Your anxiety mounts.

When Suttungr’s guards finally return, you find yourself both excited at the prospect of freedom and wary of Loki’s secrecy. The hand he rests between your shoulder blades to guide you out of the room is firm, though still gentle enough that you relax into the touch somewhat. 

As you wander the halls back toward the throne room, you start to wonder what it is that Loki’s brought as a gift that would put him on edge. You’ve never known him to be uneasy. 

“What did you do?” You ask, trepidation lacing your tone. “Loki, what did you take?”

Odin’s love for Loki often blinded him to the trickster’s antics, but if whatever object it was was important enough you feared that nothing would save him from Odin’s wrath.

“Nothing you need worry about, pet,” he murmurs, smiling demurely.

You somehow doubt his words, but you’re spared the opportunity to reply as you’re led back into the throne room and stood before Suttungr again.

“I have considered your proposal and I am willing to hear what it is you have to offer me,” Suttungr bellows.

Loki steps forward.

“Odin robbed you of your mead and your daughter of her virtue,” Loki begins, linking his hands behind his back and bowing his head. “In return, Odin offers the virtue of a subject of his own, and with it the chance to breed Aesir blood into your kin.”

The gears in your head turn as he speaks, and dread fills the pit of your stomach as a sinister smile crosses Suttungr’s face.

“You would give your mate to pay Odin’s debt?” He asks.

“Loki, what-”

Your cry is cut off as an icy thread of magic wraps itself around your throat, stealing your voice. You reach up, clawing at your neck in a vain attempt at dislodging it. When that fails, you glance around, panicked, and look for a way out even though you know you’ll never find escape.

“Odin owes a great many debts,” Loki says lightly. “And with this one paid, he will owe a debt to me. It really is a small price to pay for a respite from the Allfather.”

Suttungr grumbles in apparent agreement.

“Consider his debt paid, then,” the giant says. “Guards, take the Aesir back to the guest quarters, and escort the trickster to the Bifrost. We are finished here.”

You pull against the guards’ grasp as they grip you by the upper arms and start to lead you away. Your voice returns to you as Loki takes his leave.

“How could you?” You shout, tears blurring your vision. “Loki!”

He turns his gaze to you one last time before stepping through the hall’s main doors, a small smile on his face.


	7. Star Trek AOS / Bones x Reader / Kidnapped

You glance around the vast, barren desert before you as you step through the trees along its border, shielding your eyes against the harsh afternoon sun with a hand. You’ve never seen such a sudden, distinct transition between two wholly different environments before and it leaves you speechless as you stoop down to examine the spot where the soil stops and the sand begins.

“Tell me we’re not going out there,” Leonard says as he comes up behind you, gesturing to the dunes ahead.

You glance at him over your shoulder, wiping your palms on your slacks as you straighten up.

“Are you kidding me?” You say incredulously. “I plan on gathering as much data on this planet as I can. This place is wild.”

A muscle in Leonard’s cheek twitches as he attempts to not roll his eyes.

“We’ll die of exposure,” he says flatly.

You shake your head, already marching on ahead, leaving him scrambling behind.

“We only have another hour,” you say with a shrug. “We’ve got enough water to keep us covered until the shuttle picks us up. Come on. I’m going out there, and I know you’re going to follow me so you can make sure I don’t do something stupid, so hustle up!”

The two of you hike in silence for a while, scaling a dune and slipping down the other side. You pause to look at a colony of iridescent beetle-like insects and Leonard takes a seat on a nearby mound of sand. Glancing around, he realizes he’s lost all sense of direction now that the forest is out of sight. It gives him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he chooses to ignore for now.

The sun beats down hard from overhead as you work, collecting samples, taking notes. You can hear Leonard drinking from his water bottle and urging you to drink from yours, but you’re too preoccupied by your work to take a break. Glancing up briefly, you squint as a form on the horizon appears. Humanoid, wearing some sort of brightly colored robing. Prior to your departure form the Enterprise, Mr. Spock had assured you that the planet showed no signs of behind inhabited. The recollection makes you wonder for a moment whether you’re not seeing things; a mirage of some sort. Taking it as a sign that you need a brief break, you finally crack your water bottle and take a long draught. The water is tepid but still refreshing in the heat.

“You’ve finally come to your senses,” Leonard comments, smiling wryly.

You shoot him a look of feigned indignation, taking another big sip before recapping the bottle. Still feeling a little fuzzy, you move toward where he’s seated and pull up some sand next to him, joining him for a brief rest.

The two of you sit in silence for a while. You stare at the horizon but see no sign of the figure you’d seen a short while earlier. Something in the air feels like it’s changed, though, and you start to feel somewhat dizzy. There’s some sort of a fine mist hanging over you, its moisture providing a desperately needed respite from the dry heat. The sensation becomes unwelcome quickly, however, as you feel the mist start to coat your throat. Your head starts to spin more and you begin feeling short of breath. You start to fidget in your panic and Leonard turns to face you, his expression anxious.

“Are you alright?” He asks thickly. 

You can see that he’s experiencing the same sorts of symptoms that you are just by the way he speaks.

The darkness starts to approach more quickly and your reply is lost as unconsciousness claims you. As you slump to the ground, you see a small number of the humanoid figures you’d seen on the horizon earlier circle you and Leonard. Their image is burned into your mind as you succumb to the mist.

You’re not sure how long afterward you wake, but you snap back to reality quickly. Sitting up, you glance around for any signs of the aliens you’d seen but find none. Leonard is gone and so is all of your gear. Even your personal communicator has been removed from your tool belt. Climbing to your feet, you spin around in circles in a desperate attempt to orientate yourself, but to no avail. 

A scream tears from your throat, piercing the silence around you, being muted by sand dunes as far as you can see.


	8. Shadowhunters / Malec / Fever

“Rise and shine, Alexander,” Magnus said brightly, pulling back the heavy curtains to let the late morning sunshine in.

Alec groaned, rolling over and pulling the covers up over his pounding head. He grumbled as he felt the mattress dip beside him but leaned into Magnus’ touch as the warlock stroked his arm through the blankets.

“Rumor has it it’s a beautifully crisp fall evening in Rome,” Magnus murmured. “I thought we could pop over for a nice dinner on the town.”

“Not today,” Alec groaned, his voice muffled by all of the fabric.

Magnus frowned.

“It’s not like you to turn down a romantic getaway,” he said worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

Alec pulled the covers back, squinting against the onslaught of sunlight to peer up at Magnus.

“I think I’m dying,” he said flatly.

Magnus took in the faint sheen of perspiration on Alec’s skin, noticed the flush in the shadowhunter’s cheeks. He reached out and touched his palm to Alec’s forehead.

“Don’t be so melodramatic,” Magnus quipped, rolling his eyes. “You’re not dying, but you are burning up.”

“Where’s my stele?” Alec rasped.

Magnus tutted softly.

“Your magic only works on your own body,” Magnus explained. “Broken bones, flesh wounds, sure, but it won’t do anything against a virus. You know that.”

Alec glared at the warlock, rolling over to face away from Magnus like a petulant child. Magnus smiled behind Alec’s back. It might’ve been petty, but it was also incredibly endearing to see his usually strong, infallible lover so vulnerable. He reached out to run his fingers through Alec’s hair.

“Can’t you fix it?” Alec asked, sniffing in an attempt to clear his nasal passages.

“It’ll take me a few hours to throw the right potion together,” Magnus replied. “But yes, I can fix it.”

Alec shifted so he was lying on his back, throwing an arm over his mouth to cover a sudden paroxysm of coughs. He shivered in the wake of the attack and pulled the blankets in just a little closer.

“Please,” Alec said quietly. “I don’t have time to be sick.”

Magnus tutted disapprovingly.

“Even the head of the New York Institute needs to take it easy sometimes,” Magnus said firmly. “I’ve got half a mind not to brew that potion after all just so you’re forced to rest up a while.”

Alec groaned in protest and Magnus flashed him a sympathetic expression.

“Why don’t you try to get a little more sleep?” Magnus suggested. “I’ll go and get a head start on that potion, then I’ll bring you some breakfast.”

Alec nodded and pulled the covers back up over his head. Magnus negated the need for such measures with a flick of his wrist, closing the blinds by way of magic before hurrying off to get to work. He gathered all of the necessary ingredients for the potion needed to cure Alec and measured each one out precisely. Adding them all to a pot, he set a ladle in the brew and charmed it to self-stir every few minutes before moving into the kitchen.

Magnus could easily have conjured breakfast, but he enjoyed cooking sometimes and figured it would give Alec a chance to get some desperately-needed rest if he took his time. He hummed softly to himself as he worked, stirring a pot of oatmeal not unlike he had his potion. He enjoyed it, the whole domesticity thing, and couldn’t help but smile fondly at the warmth that filled him as he started plating breakfast.

“What’re you making?” A sleepy Alec asked, garnering Magnus’ attention.

The warlock turned gracefully on his heel, brandishing a glass of orange juice.

“This, to start,” he said brightly. “Rumor has it vitamin C is good for your immune system.”

Alec shuffled over, pulling one of Magnus’ bathrobes tighter around himself to ward off the chills wracking his body. Magnus slid the glass across the counter as Alec took a seat and he didn’t miss the way the shadowhunter’s gaze flicked hopefully over to the coffee pot.

“You need to hydrate,” Magnus said softly, turning to spoon some oatmeal into a bowl.

Alec grumbled wordlessly, leaning an elbow onto the counter and hefting the orange juice, taking a few small sips. The acidity burned his sore throat a little but he choked the liquid down nevertheless; anything to stop him feeling so terribly. Magnus smiled at Alec in sympathy as he handed over the oatmeal topped with cinnamon and sugar.

“Thanks,” Alec murmured, half-heartedly picking up the spoon to eat, his appetite lacking.

Magnus inclined his head, moving around the counter to perch beside Alec on another stool. He watched Alec eat, resting a hand on the shadowhunter’s knee. He used his healing magic to help alleviate some of Alec’s symptoms, but the cure would have to wait. Still, he could tell Alec felt better by the way his shoulders relaxed.

“I’m going to check on the potion,” Magnus said softly, standing up and leaning in to press a kiss to Alec’s forehead. 

Alec waved him off.

“Germs,” he said by way of explanation.

Magnus chuckled.

“A mundane cold is no match for me,” Magnus assured him. “As I was saying, I’ll check on the potion, then I’ll run you a cool bath to see if we can’t get that fever down a bit. How’s that sound?”

Alec perked up a little.

“Will you wash my hair with some of your special shampoo?” He asked, averting his gaze uncharacteristically shyly.

Magnus’ heart nearly burst with love for Alec.

“It goes without saying,” Magnus replied, turning to leave. “Now, finish up your breakfast; you need to keep up your strength.”

Alec looked over his shoulder to watch Magnus leave. Once the warlock was out of sight, he turned back to his breakfast with a smile, thinking that maybe being sick wasn’t so bad after all if it meant getting a little pampered.


	9. Star Trek AOS / Bones x Reader / Stranded

“We’re stuck here,” Hendorff shouts over the whipping winds, kicking at the sand at his feet. “This shit’s gumming up the engines. Until this storm passes, we’re grounded.”

You can hear Leonard curse under his breath even over the howling. You glance over at Hendorff, shielding your eyes against the onslaught of fine sand and dust, watching him yank on the shuttle door when pressing the button to open it does nothing.

“The gears are jammed, too,” he hollers. “We’re going to have to hunker down out here until I can see enough to fix it!”

You can see Leonard marching over in your general direction as you stoop down to pack up your sampling kit. The shift in the planet’s winds had come so suddenly that you hadn’t had a chance to get to safety before the storm hit, and now you’re scrambling to save your samples and your gear. The dust swirling relentlessly around you is so fine that it gets into your eyes, nose, and mouth in spite of your best efforts to keep it away, making your task that much more difficult.

Leonard kneels beside you, an arm thrown over his mouth to keep the dust from choking him.

“Leave it,” he barks. “We need to hide downwind of the shuttle. If you breathe too much of this dust your lungs can seize up, and my med kit’s in the shuttle.”

“I’m not leaving without my kit,” you shout back, breathing in a bunch of the silt. 

You start to cough, your throat burning as the fine particles coat your tongue. You fight through the paroxysm, though, tears welling in your eyes as you stuff the last of your samples into their rightful compartments. Leonard’s hand wraps around your bicep, pulling you to your feet as you heft your kit and he starts to lead you in the direction of the shuttle. The sandstorm is so thick you can scarcely see the craft’s outline through the haze.

You stumble awkwardly through the shifting sands at your feet, bracing yourself against Leonard’s side for balance. After a few more feet Hendorff’s silhouette comes into view and you can tell he’s waving the two of you over. Your legs are starting to ache as you continue coughing, your muscles protesting at the lack of oxygen already. By the time you reach the far side of the shuttle, you all but collapse to the ground.

Leonard drops to his knees next to you, keeping his back to the wind as much as he can. The shuttle provides a bit of cover, but not nearly enough to keep you entirely safe. You’re coughing ceaselessly, your breath coming short as your rib cage screams in protest.

“Is there anything you can do to help clear the air?” Leonard shouts at Hendorff. “We need to get Y/N’s breathing under control.”

Hendorff shakes his head and Leonard curses. He rests a hand on your back, curling himself protectively around you as he strokes you reassuringly.

“Try to slow and deepen your breathing,” he encourages you, reaching for the canteen of water clipped to the side of your kit.

He hands it to Hendorff who proceeds to uncap it for you as Leonard leans away briefly. You attempt to take a sip but end up sputtering, spraying water as you continue to cough. You shut your eyes, gritting your teeth in a desperate attempt to stop, and jump when you feel something being pressed to your face. It’s fabric, you realize, and you open your eyes once more, glancing around to orientate yourself. Your gaze lands on Leonard, now clad in only his undershirt, and flicks down to the tunic he’s pressing to your face to help keep you from breathing dust.

You try to murmur a thank you but it gets lost in the folds of the fabric. The coughing starts to calm almost immediately, but you find it hard to breathe because of the thickness of the material. Reaching up, you take it from Leonard and adjust it so it’s not obscuring your airflow to much. As you fiddle with it, Leonard moves to take a seat with his back against the shuttle, gesturing for you to join him. Moving slowly so as not to worsen your breathing, you settle in between his legs, leaning back against his chest. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in close.

“Breathe nice and slow for me,” he coaches you. “You’re doing great.”

You lean your head back against his shoulder as he continues to instruct you, finally feeling the tightness in your chest start to lessen. Breathing more easily, you relax and focus on Leonard’s comforting embrace. With him by your side you feel safe, and while the sandstorm continues to rage around you, you’re content to hunker down and allow the steady rhythm of his breathing against your back soothe you through it.


	10. MCU / Loki x Reader / Bruises

“Again,” you insist.

Loki drops his hands and shakes his head, straightening his posture and brushing some wayward hair out of his face.

“I think we should stop,” he argues softly. “That’s enough for today.”

You creep closer, your hands still raised in a defensive posture, your wooden sword gripped tightly in your dominant hand.

“I’m fine,” you assure him. “One more round.”

Loki puts his foot down, dropping his staff and holding his hands up in surrender.

“Asgard is not going to war tomorrow, kjæresten min,” Loki says with a small smile. “You can continue training another day.”

You straighten a little, dropping your sword arm to your side and sighing. A pained expression flickers over your features and Loki frowns, stepping closer to you. Reaching out, he runs his fingers over a spot of discoloration near your wrist; the first sign of a newly-forming bruise. He tuts softly.

“This needs taking care of,” he says lightly. “Let’s retire and I will heal these for you.”

You sigh and nod, relaxing your posture and watching him stoop to pick up his staff before leading you out of the training area. The two of you walk in silence to the changing room and Loki accompanies you inside. Once there, you hang your training sword on the rack with the others and stare at the numerous pairs of vambraces hanging on the wall, wishing you’d geared up properly and not just in your leather cuirass.

You jump as Loki walks silently up behind you, startling you with a hand on your shoulder.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, gently encouraging you to turn around. “May I?”

He indicates your cuirass and you nod. You watch as he reaches for the buckling at the side, loosening it easily and wordlessly indicating for you to lift your arms. You do so and he pulls it off of you, setting it aside before returning to pull up the hem of your thinly-padded jerkin. Beneath your base layer, your rib cage is littered with bruises and swollen in spots. Loki tuts disapprovingly and glances up to meet your gaze.

“How did you let it get this bad?” He asks. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

You shrug, pushing his hands away and forcing him to drop the fabric to preserve your modesty once more.

“An attacker on the battlefield won’t stop trying to run me through just because I’ve taken a beating already,” you reply. “I need to be prepared for anything. It’s an occupational hazard.”

“By that token, letting yourself get this injured in training might leave you unfit and unprepared for battle should one arise,” Loki counters.

You glare at him; you know that he’s right. He smiles as he reaches for you again and you can’t help but drop the indignation. His smile always cuts right to your core.

As he steps closer, you avert your gaze, suddenly shy as you feel his hand slip beneath the hem of your jerkin. His touch is always cool thanks to the jotunn blood in his veins, and it’s heaven against your aching skin. You reach up to rest a hand on his shoulder, steadying yourself as he channels a little bit of his healing magic into your side, almost instantly reducing the pain of your injuries.

Almost as quickly as it had appeared, his touch is gone and you look up to meet his gaze again, groaning a little in protest.

“If I heal you up completely then you will never learn,” Loki says sagely. “But I’m certain I can keep your mind off of what ails you back in your quarters.”

As he pulls away and takes you by the hand to lead you, the thought of what’s to come banishes any remaining pain you’re feeling.


	11. Star Trek AOS / Bones x Reader / Hypothermia

You’re so thoroughly chilled by the time you see headlights turn up the driveway to Leonard’s house in the countryside that you can barely open your eyes any wider. You watch his truck creep up the road, leaving tire tracks in the freshly fallen snow, and attempt to stand. You’ve been sitting on the porch swing for nearly two hours after having Scotty beam you over a day early to surprise Leonard on shore leave and you’re frozen through in spite of your warm winter clothes.

You pull your limbs in tighter to preserve the last vestiges of warmth in your body as the lights turn out and you hear the driver’s side door open and close. The rustle of shopping bags accompanies Leonard’s crunching footsteps as he makes his way to the front door. The swing beneath you creaks as he clears the top stair and he nearly drops his bags as he jumps, startled by the sight of you.

“Jesus Christ, darlin’,” Leonard says, his voice a little reedy. “You damn near gave me a heart attack. What’re you doing here? I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

“Surprise,” you whisper, your voice hoarse from the chill.

You can tell Leonard immediately knows that something’s off. You watch as he deposits his grocery bags and moves quickly to your side, perching on the swing next to you. His eyes widen in shock as he notices the ice crystals weighing down your eyelashes and the dryness of your lips. He pulls a glove off and touches a too-hot seeming hand to your cheek, cursing at the chill in your skin that greets him.

“How long have you been out here?” He asks, getting to his feet and offering you a hand up.

You reach up slowly, your muscles stiff, and allow him to help you up. 

“A while,” you reply, too cold and tired to say overmuch.

You lean into him and allow him to guide you to the door. He opens it easily with one hand and leads you inside. You pause briefly to slide your feet out of your boots before continuing on, step by step, to the living room. Leonard sits you down on the couch and immediately starts to undress you, starting with your toque and gloves.

“We need to get you warmed up,” Leonard murmurs, reaching for the zipper to your jacket.

He moves swiftly but carefully, getting the rest of your outerwear off in a few short minutes. You watch him as he helps you out of your sweater, too, leaving you in just your pants and thermal undershirt. He looks closely at your hands, searching for signs of frostbite, and then gets to his feet, leaving your side only for long enough to retrieve a pile of blankets and a thermometer.

You open your mouth obediently as he holds the thermometer out for you, holding it carefully between your lips as not to break the glass while Leonard starts to shake out the blankets. They’re a little musty from disuse, but you can feel the heat building beneath them almost immediately as he drapes them over you, tucking them in securely around you. He sits down at your side as he finishes and reaches up to take the thermometer from you again.

“Ninety degrees,” Leonard says grimly as he glances at the reading. “Why didn’t you comm me to come home sooner?”

You smile triedly, feeling your frozen limbs starting to thaw just the smallest bit.

“I kept assuming you would be home soon,” you reply shakily as shivers start to wrack your body now that you’re not being forced to compensate for the cold. “And I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“At the expense of your own health?” He asks incredulously.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

Leonard rolls his eyes, his demeanor softening as he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll get you sorted out,” he murmurs softly. “You just sit here and don’t move, and I’ll bring you some tea.”

You nod, curling in tighter on yourself as the shivers become more violent as your circulation picks up. You watch Leonard quickly stoke the fireplace across the room. He lights it before disappearing into the kitchen.

In spite of the overwhelming chill, you find yourself dozing a little as you wait for him to return. The smell of woodsmoke in the air and the feeling of the weight of the blankets around you are comforting and you start to slowly feel better. Your muscles ache as the start to warm up and your shivering continues, but thankfully Leonard returns quickly, steaming mug of tea in hand.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, setting the mug down and joining you once again.

“C-cold,” you reply.

He smiles softly, nodding. Shifting closer, he leans into the couch cushions to make some more room for you and reaches around your waist to pull you into him. You lean happily into him, moving around until you’re snug up against him, your cheek resting on his shoulder. He’s soft and warm and you feel your shivering start to ease almost immediately with the addition of his body heat.

As you snuggle into the blanket nest, Leonard’s hand finds its way through the layers of fabric. He grasps your wrist, his touch still uncomfortably warm against your skin, and feels for your pulse. It’s a little fast, a little fluttery, but nice and strong. Reassured, he lets go again and pulls his hand back, patching up the space left behind so that your warmth is sealed in.

“So what’s my prognosis?” You ask, letting your eyes close.

“Favorable,” he murmurs, nuzzling against your cheek and holding you just a little tighter. “Provided you follow your doctor’s orders.”

You smile softly as you feel yourself being pulled toward sleep again.

“Yes, Doctor.”


	12. Torchwood / Owen Harper x Reader / Electrocution

You curse as your wrench hits a bare conduit, causing sparks to fly from the point of contact. The lights in the hub flicker and you sigh, wiping the back of your hand across your forehead. You can practically feel Ianto’s sympathetic smile from where he’s standing behind you, ready to hand you whatever tools you need.

“You’ll get it,” he assures you.

You roll your eyes.

“I’m working on a piece of alien tech that no one on Earth has had any experience with before,” you mutter. “Even Jack doesn’t know how this thing works. I’m working in the hypothetical. If I’m not careful, I could overload the whole thing.”

“And if you don’t, you’ll be the world’s first expert on subetheric resonators,” Ianto says brightly.

“Joy,” you deadpan, reaching for another tool.

You click on a flashlight, shining it into the compartment you’ve opened, directing the beam around. You find what looks like a loose connection towards the back of the space and shift around, taking a knee and scooting forward so you can reach deeper into the compartment. You scarcely notice the small puddle beneath you; the result of a miniscule leak in the ceiling overhead letting some of Cardiff’s typical weather in.

Reaching into the compartment, you grasp the loose connection with a pair of fine-tipped pliers, carefully jiggling it around a little, attempting to tighten the bolt. It would be easier with a wrench, but the compartment is too small and your arm is too outstretched to make it feasible to use one.

As you strain the bolt a little, a prickling sensation causes the hairs on your arms and neck to stand up. You frown, backing off a little, and wait for the feeling to pass before attempting another turn. This time, though, you crank too hard on the bolt and the whole resonator charges, sending a shockwave of electricity running through its entirety. The current flows through the water beneath you and straight into your skin through the wet spot in your slacks.

The pain that grips you is blinding and your vision whites out as your muscles seize. Your grip on the pliers tightens reflexively and you’re stuck in place as the electricity courses through you. Ianto watches helplessly, panicking as he shouts for help and wonders how to get you free of the current. Thankfully, though, the resonator quickly overloads, releasing you from its grip and taking the main lights out with it as it falls silent. 

You’re dazed as you hit the ground in the moment of darkness before the backup generators kick in, and by the time the emergency lights power on you’re surrounded by other members of the team. 

“We need to get Owen,” Tosh says urgently, looking to Jack.

Jack nods, sending Gwen off to find the doctor and gathering you carefully into his arms, apologizing as the jumbling around sends a wave of agony through your overused muscles. He strides quickly across the hub, doing his best to avoid jostling you on the steps. Your head lolls; you’re too tired to hold it up. Gwen gives you a sympathetic smile as Jack carries you past her, and you can see Owen up ahead, preparing the infirmary for your arrival.

“On the table,” he instructs Jack, stepping aside so the captain can set you down. “Then out. Leave us.”

Jack deposits you gently, giving you a wink and a smile before hurrying out of Owen’s way.

“I want a report as soon as you’ve got one,” Jack instructs the doctor.

Owen nods in acknowledgement and moves over to your side, his expression worried but soft. He reaches out to take your wrist and feel your pulse with one hand, cupping your cheek with the other.

“Gwen tells me you lit yourself up like a firecracker,” Owen teases gently, locking his gaze with yours. “And took out every electronic in a six block radius.”

You lick your lips thickly, groaning as he moves his hands around to behind your head and neck, feeling gently for any signs of injury to your skull or spine. You watch him as he moves away, satisfied, and retrieves his stethoscope. He puts it on and returns to your side, slipping a hand underneath your shirt, pressing the stethoscope to your aching rib cage.

“Breathe for me, sweetheart,” he instructs you.

You do as you’re told, whining quietly as your entire body continues to ache. Owen shushes you softly as he finishes up his exam. He darts around the sunken space that serves as the hub’s makeshift infirmary, gathering a few supplies and applying monitor leads so he can watch your heart rhythm. Satisfied, he steps up to your side again, holding up a syringe.

“Something for the pain,” he explains.

As much as you hate needles, you nod, turning your head away as he rolls up your sleeve. You scarcely even feel the pinprick among all of your aches and pains and before long he’s tugging your sleeve down again and coming to sit at your side.

“How’re you feeling now?” He asks.

“Been better,” you reply.

Owen chuckles softly and nods, reaching out to take your hand. He rests his free hand on your thigh, drawing absent-minded patterns through the fabric with his fingers.

“Well, you’re going to be just fine,” he assures you. “Nothing a good sleep and a hot bath won’t fix.”

You ponder his words for a moment, turning your head to look at him, feeling the pain slowly starting to ebb as the medication begins to work. Owen squeezes your hand gently, stroking you until you start to feel sleepy. You’re still uncomfortable on the metal table and sore all over the place, but the medication is making you warm and a little loopy. You can feel yourself being pulled into a deep sleep, but you power through it for a moment longer.

“Tell Ianto he can be the world’s first expert on subetheric resonators. I quit.”


	13. Supergirl / Mon-El x Reader / "Stay."

_No.  No!_ **  
**

You toss and turn, a nightmare gripping you.  

_It’s dark, so dark, and cold.  Someone’s chasing you and no matter how fast you run, you can’t outrun them.  There’s nowhere to hide, and your pursuer is faceless in the shadows, unrecognizable but intensely terrifying.  Your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest and your lungs are aching from how hard you’re breathing, but you can’t stop running._

Outside the dream, you teeter perilously close to the edge of your bed.  You writhe and jerk in your sheets, rolling around, dodging imaginary foes as your nightmare spirals deeper and darker.  You duck away from a hand with a blade in it, rolling back, right off of your bed.  You knock into the night table on your way down and wake with a start on the floor.  

Breathing hard, you sit up with a gasp, glancing around in the darkness.  Your eyes adjust quickly, but not before you see some shadows out of the periphery of your vision.  Shutting your eyes tightly again, you pull your knees up to your chest, whimpering softly, praying for daylight.

You’re not sure how long you sit there, but eventually a noise startles you out of your reverie.  You sit perfectly still, listening closely, barely breathing.  You hear it again - a knock at your door.  It’s soft but persistent, and eventually you overcome the worst of your fear, lifting your head and opening your eyes.  They’re well-adjusted to the darkness, thankfully, and it makes crossing your bedroom easy.

Stepping out into the hall, you flick on the light and curse as the brightness assaults your retinas.  You blink a few times, squinting as you adjust, and creep forward.  You walk until you reach the living room and then pause again, listening.  The knocking sound comes again, and you’re sure that it’s coming from your door now.

“Hello?”  You ask as you creep closer, closing the distance and standing just inside the entryway.

“Hello?”  Comes a voice from the other side.  “Is everything alright in there?”

You frown, leaning in to peek through the peephole in the door.  You relax when you realize it’s your next door neighbor, though you wonder what’s going on as you notice he’s in his pajamas.

“Mon-El?”  You ask, stepping back to unlock the door.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he replies.

You open the door, flipping on the lightswitch and stepping aside, gesturing for him to come in.

“Is everything alright?”  You ask him, shutting the door again and ushering him into the living room.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets and looking at you with concern.  “I heard you scream.  Your window’s open and the walls in this place are pretty thin.”

You feel heat rise in your cheeks at his words and avert your gaze, padding over to the couch.  You can feel him following along in your wake, and you gesture to the furniture.

“Make yourself at home,” you murmur.

“Thanks,” he says gratefully, his gaze tracing your features.

You take a seat on one end of the couch, watching as he steps around you and sits down on the other side.  There’s an empty space between the two of you and it makes you feel alone in spite of your company.  You wrap your arms around yourself.

“I had a nightmare,” you admit eventually.

He makes a soft, noncommittal noise.

“Must’ve been a pretty bad one,” he says lightly, absentmindedly plucking at the beading on the cushion next to him.  “You kept screaming no.”

You nod lightly, staring off out the window across the room as you recall the things you’d seen in the dream.

“It’s already fading,” you say with a shrug.  “I have them sometimes, nightmares; it’s not a big deal.”

You can feel him watching you.  You glance in his direction eventually, smiling tiredly, and yawn as exhaustion starts to drag at you again.  In spite of it, you know you won’t be able to sleep again any time soon even if you try.

“Well, if you’re sure,” he says softly.  “I’ll leave you to it.  I’m glad you’re alright.”

He slowly stands up, moving to step past you again, but you don’t let him.  Without thinking, you reach up and grab hold of his hand, clenching it tightly.

“Stay,” you say quietly.  “Please?”

Mon-El smiles softly, nodding and giving your hand a squeeze.  He settles himself down right next to you and you shift a little bit closer, feeling safer already for having him there.  He tugs gently on the hand of yours that he’s still holding, putting his other arm on the back of the couch and encouraging you to lean into him.  You hesitate briefly, feeling somewhat shy, but eventually allow yourself to snuggle into him.  You rest your head on his shoulder, sighing contentedly as his arm drapes across the back of your neck, pulling you even closer.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

“It’s my pleasure,” he replies.  “Now try to get some rest. I’ll do my best to keep the monsters at bay.”

You have no doubt that he’ll be able to, and you allow yourself to relax in the arms of your own personal superhero.  


	14. Star Trek AOS / Jim Kirk x Reader / Torture

You moan into the gag in your mouth, tossing your head back and forth as two men drag you from inside the cell you’ve been locked in for two days.  They’re going to cut on you again, you just know it.  Your skin is already caked with dried blood, tight from all of the scabs and scars you’ve acquired since your capture, and you don’t know how much more you can take.  You don’t have the information your captors are looking for, but they seem convinced otherwise. **  
**

You pray for rescue and death in the same measure.

The men force you into a room a short distance down the hallway, and you know just by the length of the walk that it’s not the same room they’ve put you in before.  You continue to fight regardless, even as they sit you in a chair and tie you securely to it.  You pant into your gag as they step back, giving you some space.

You settle your gaze on the wall in front of you, and you quickly realize it’s not a wall at all.  It appears to be glass, and the room beyond it is dark.  You squint into the pitch, wondering what’s going on, and find yourself blinded by a sudden illumination therein a moment later.  You recoil, shutting your eyes tightly, and wait a moment before trying to open them again.  When you finally manage to blink the light away, you feel your heart nearly stop at the sight in the room beyond.

Jim’s in there.  He’s strapped to a rack not unlike the one they’ve been strapping you to.  He’s naked aside from his briefs and held tight by restraints around his wrists and ankles.  He’s got a gag in, too, just like you.  The only real difference is that his skin is thus far unmarred.

You try to shout out to him but your voice is muffled by the fabric bound tightly between your teeth, and the window blocks whatever sound you do manage to make.  The man who’s been torturing you steps into view, a dark, evil smile on his face.

“You didn’t want to cooperate when we were cutting on you,” he says lightly, gesturing to Jim.  “Maybe you’ll talk if we cut on your captain a little.”

Your eyes widen in horror as the man moves toward a small table lined with all sorts of lethally sharp tools.  You watch as Jim lifts his head, his own face reading horror as he sees the instrument the man has selected.  You’re helpless to do anything as Jim pulls against the restraints binding him and you grit your teeth around the gag in your mouth as he cries out wordlessly in pain the second the blade sinks into his arm.

You watch blood well in the wake of the blade, trickling down Jim’s arm and onto the table beneath him.  Your stomach turns as you remember the sensation of the warm, slightly thick liquid running down your own skin and you have to forcibly swallow the bile that rises in your throat at the memory.

Your heart aches as you watch Jim writhe and try to dodge the blade as it comes down on his flesh again and again.  There’s so much blood you wonder how he has any left and you can tell that it’s starting to weaken him.  His wrists are bruised around the edges of the shackles and his skin is taking on a sickly color.  There are tears streaking his face and perspiration shining on every exposed inch of flesh.

The torturer turns and steps toward the glass partition, meeting your horrified gaze.

“Are you ready to tell me what I want to know?”  He asks.

You sob against the gag, watching as Jim lifts his head to look at you.  Your resolve crumbles as his unfocused gaze meets yours and you’re ready to talk, to lie if you have to, to get him out of that room.  You may not have the information these men want, but you’re willing to lie and say you do if it works in Jim’s favor.

You look up at the torturer once again as Jim is unshackled and loaded onto a stretcher, steeling yourself and nodding as he’s wheeled away.  As your captor smiles approvingly, you pray that it’s not too late.


	15. Star Trek AOS / Jim Kirk x Reader / Manhandling

The ship is on red alert and while the sirens cover the sounds of your boots on the floor nicely, the strobing red lights make it hard to see anything.  Your crew is under attack and as chief of security it’s your job to ensure their safety.  Biting your lip and focusing, you grip your phaser tightly and creep through the halls, looking for any signs of intruders. **  
**

It’s eerily quiet aside from the klaxons.

Creeping around the corner, you spy one of the enemy soldiers pacing at the end of the hallways.  Cursing, you duck behind the corner again and hunker down.  You try to even out your breathing as you decide on a course of action.  You’re so lost in thought that you fail to hear the creak of another boot on the deck plating behind you, and the next thing you know you’re being pitched toward the floor as a brief but intense shock of agony goes through your whole body.

“Look what we’ve got here,” a voice says just over your head as boots appear in your line of sight.  “Another hostage.”

You curse inwardly, groaning as you feel yourself being hauled to your feet by the scruff of your neck.  The brief stun has made your muscles weak and thrown off your coordination and you stumble awkwardly down the hall as your captor pushes you along.  When you don’t move quickly enough for his satisfaction, he grasps you by the wrist, pinning it high against your back for a better hold, making you whimper.

“Oh I’m sorry, is this too much for you?”  He asks, pulling even harder on your arm, keeping you close as he pushes on.  “Keep walking.”

You do as he says, knowing you’re too weak to resist.  You trip over a small lip on the floor, nearly toppling the both of you, earning yourself another harsh tug on the arm.  Your captor wraps his other arm around your waist, throwing you up against the nearest wall with a sound thud.

“I’m not carrying you,” he snarls.  “So we’ll stop until you can get your shit together.  In the meantime I’m going to make sure you’re not carrying anything else, if you don’t mind.”

You mind, of course, but you’re helpless to do much with your muscles still loose and uncoordinated.  Your strength is starting to return, but not quickly enough.  You gasp as he wedges a knee between your thighs, pushing your legs apart, and places your hands on the wall over your head.

You feel anger well inside of you as his hands run up your legs, your sides, and your arms, searching for other weapons.  His hands reach your butt and he gives it a little squeeze before finishing the pat down, making you see red.

“Let’s go,” he says a moment later.  “I think you’ve had more than enough time to recover.”

You grit your teeth as he grabs you by the arm again, leading you further down the hall, past other members of his crew.  They laugh as the two of you pass and you want to spit in their faces, but instead you bide your time.

Before long, you reach a door.  Your escort reaches out and pushes it open, shoving you inside.  You trip over yourself, landing hard on the floor, feeling the ache of bruises already starting to form as you grope around in the darkness.  The room is warm and you can hear breathing; you’re not alone.

In the light from the hallway beyond, you see another figure approach held by their side.

“How many does that last one make?”  The new woman’s voice asks.

“Fifteen,” your captor says.  “Look like we’ve got them all.”

The lights come to life moments later, blinding you, and you glance around the room.  The rest of your teammates are bound and gagged through the room and Jim is standing over you with his usual thousand-watt smile firmly in place.

“Looks like I win again, sunshine,” he says brightly, holding out a hand to wake you up.

You roll your eyes.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you mutter.  “Your ass is grass next simulation.”

Jim chuckles, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead as you rub at the scrapes on your palms from where you hit the ground.

“That’s what you always say,” he teases playfully, holstering his phaser.  “Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.”

You roll your eyes and can’t help but smile as he holds an arm out for you to take.

“You’d better kiss all of my bruises better, too.”


	16. Star Trek AOS / Jim Kirk x Reader / Bedridden

You moan softly as your fever soars, your entire body wracked with an alien virus that’s slowly trying to destroy you, cell by cell.  The medication dripping into your IV line is helping the fight in your favor, but the road ahead of you is a long one.  You ache everywhere, so much so that even Christine’s gentle touch as she cools you with a wet washcloth is too much for your sense to handle.  You feel like your skin is on fire. **  
**

“Jim,” you croak weakly.

Christine smiles sadly, shushing you gently, humming wordlessly to soothe you as the illness takes its toll.  She glances over her shoulder in time to watch the captain come barreling into med bay, heading straight for the isolation room in which you lay.

“What happened?”  He asks, heading toward the door.

A firm hand on his shoulder stops him.  

“You can’t go in there,” Leonard says grimly, glancing away from the monitor displaying your vital signs and down to his best friend instead.

“The hell I can’t,” Jim argues.  “That’s my girlfriend in there, Bones.”

Leonard isn’t cowed by Jim’s tone.  He sidesteps the younger man, placing himself between Jim and the isolation room door.

“And Christine’s taking care of her,” Leonard assures him.

“I need to be with her,” Jim says firmly.  “Get out of my way, Bones; that’s an order.”

Leonard shakes his head, his expression apologetic.

“You don’t get to pull rank on me in here, Jim,” he counters.  “If I let you in there, you’re putting the whole crew at risk.”

Jim shakes his head, finally tearing his gaze away from you long enough to look at Leonard.

“What are you talking about?”  Jim asks.

“You skipped your last physical,” Leonard explains.  “Which means your immunizations aren’t up to date.  You’re not protected against what she has, and if I let you in there, I can’t let you back out until the incubation period passes.  If I can’t let you out, you can’t lead your crew.”

Jim curses, throwing up his arms in frustration.

“Give me the hypo,” he implores the CMO.  “Please, Bones.  Just give me whatever shot I need so I can be with her.”

Leonard shakes his head.

“I’m afraid it’s not that easy,” he says softly.  “It’ll take your body two weeks to mount a proper immune response to the vaccine.  You won’t be fully protected until that time has elapsed.  No can do, Jim.”

Jim curses again, running a hand through his hair.  Leonard can practically feel Jim’s fear radiating off of him.  He steps closer, putting a hand on Jim’s shoulder.

“Christine’s not going anywhere,” Leonard assures Jim.  “We won’t leave Y/N alone for even a second until she’s well enough to rejoin us out here.  Once she’s come around a bit you can talk to her, but for now it’s best if you leave her to rest.”

Jim sags and Leonard steps in closer, putting an arm around the younger man’s shoulders.

“I can’t lose her, Bones,” he says quietly, as though even saying the words aloud might seal your fate.

“Not on my watch, you won’t,” Leonard assures him.  “She’s a fighter, Jim.  I know it looks pretty bad right now, but she’s going to be just fine.  She’s hanging in there.”

Jim steps closer to the isolation room, pressing his palm to the glass separating the two of you.  He heaves a heavy sigh, dropping his head and taking a moment to steel himself.  He glances up at Leonard again.

“I’m not leaving her,” he insists.  “I’ll sit here around the clock until I can go in there and hold her hand.  If I can’t go in there, then that’s my best offer.”

Leonard nods.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he says sympathetically.  “I’ll have a cot set up for you.  In the meantime, since you’re here, let’s get that physical out of the way.  If you get your shots now, then we can make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

Jim nods in defeat, his shoulders sagging.  He turns to follow Leonard to a private exam room, but hesitates as he watches Christine tend to you.  He holds onto the glass for another moment, tears stinging at his eyes as he turns away from you at last, praying that nothing happens to you in the time that he’s gone.


	17. Star Trek AOS / Christine Chapel x Reader / Drugged

You grit your teeth as you attempt to restrain your patient.  He’s in the throes of a violent psychosis and it’s too big a job for just you and Christine.  Thankfully she manages to hit the emergency call button and within seconds Dr. McCoy rushes in, immediately jumping in to help. **  
**

“Get him five units of Tetrovaline!”  Dr. McCoy orders.

He pins the crewman’s shoulders down so that you can escape and you rush over to the med cabinet.  You slide a preloaded vial of the sedative into a hypospray and return to the patient’s bedside.  You move to line the hypospray up with the crewman’s neck but he bucks Christine and Dr. McCoy before you’re able to deliver the medication, reaching out to grab the hypo.

You do your best to keep a grip on the hypospray as the crewman growls, attempting to wrest it from your hands, but you’re not strong enough.  He pulls the instrument away, swinging his arm wildly, catching you in the shoulder.  You wince as you feel the hypo depress into your skin through the thin fabric of your tunic and almost immediately you start to feel dizzy.

Your vision swims as you stumble back, tripping over your feet and landing hard on the floor.  You watch Dr. McCoy rush in to subdue the patient once again as other personnel arrive to help.

“Go,” he instructs Christine.  “We’ve got this.  You need to check on Y/N; that high a dose could spell bad news.”

Christine nods, enlisting the help of two medics standing by.  The last thing you see as darkness claims you is her kneeling next to you, her hand reaching out to touch the pulse point in your neck.

When you start to surface some unknown amount of time later, your head is spinning and you feel sick to your stomach.  You toss your head, jumping a little at a sudden touch to your cheek.

“You’re alright, Y/N,” Christine’s voice assures you.  “I’ve got you.  Just try to relax.”

You stop tossing quite so much, turning your head to look at her.  Your vision is somewhat unfocused and you close your eyes again as the diplopia makes your nausea worse.

“What happened?”  You rasp.

Christine strokes your cheek gently a moment before moving on to start an assessment.  You hiss when she shines a light into your eyes, checking your pupil response.

“You got hit with a high dose of Tetrovaline,” she explains.  “You were in and out of it for a while.  Dr. McCoy ordered Flumazenil to help counteract it, but you’re going to be loopy for a little while still.”

You make a wordless noise of acknowledgement and lick your dry, cracked lips.  You move a hand to reach up and wipe a trickle of drying saliva out of the corner of your mouth but find yourself bound by an IV line.  Christine grasps your wrist to push your arm back down, pressing her fingers down over your radial artery in the meantime.  You smile at her use of archaic assessment techniques.

“‘M I gonna make it?”  You murmur, still lost just beneath the surface of consciousness.

“You’re going to be just fine,” Christine assures you, silencing an alarm on your bio bed as it starts going off.  “As long as you focus on breathing for me.  Slow, deep breaths until the sedative wears off.”

You grumble as she moves aside and returns with an oxygen mask, settling it over your mouth and nose.  It smells like plastic and too-clean air and you huff, fogging it briefly with your breath.

“Behave yourself or I might just have to unleash Dr. McCoy on you,” she threatens jokingly.

You roll your eyes.

“Spare me,” you slur a little.  “I’ll take your TLC over his any day.”

“Just don’t let him hear you say that,” Christine whispers with a mischievous grin.

You smile, but it fades quickly as an intense nausea grips you.  You fist your hands in the blanket that someone has thoughtfully draped over you and throw your head back as you swallow the wellspring of bile rising in your throat.  Christine notices your discomfort immediately and hurries off, returning with a syringe of medication.  She injects it into your IV and while it stings going in, it also brings relief from the uneasiness.  You relax again, slowly breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth.  Christine presses a stethoscope to your chest, listening to your heartbeat and breathing, smiling at you serenely throughout.

“You gave me quite a scare, you know,” she says softly as she sets her stethoscope aside, perching on the edge of your bed.

“‘M sorry,” you murmur, fighting sleep.

Christine reaches out to gently stroke your cheek.

“Hush, now, it wasn’t your fault,” she rebuts.  “Now quiet down and get some sleep.  You’ll feel a whole lot better when you wake up.”

You make a wordless noise of agreement, letting your eyes flutter closed.  Even lying down your head is spinning and as the darkness closes in on you you start to feel like something is terribly wrong.  Your chest starts to feel heavy and your muscles tense.  

“Y/N?”  Christine asks, her voice sounding far away.

Your teeth clench and your body starts to spasm.  As your consciousness fades, your breathing being cut off entirely, you hear Christine’s voice again, though it sounds like it’s a thousand yards away now.

_“She’s seizing!  Someone get Dr. McCoy!”_


	18. Almost Human / John Kennex x Reader / Hostage

John glanced at his watch as he waited by the takeout window for his order, hoping he’d get it with enough time to spare to get to the bank before your lunch break started.  He wanted to surprise you and he couldn’t wait to see your smiling face.  On rough days, thoughts of getting to see and hold you were the only things that got him through. **  
**

He grabbed the containers as they were finally placed on the counter, leaving with a nod of thanks to the man working behind it.  Up ahead, Dorian was stepping out of the car, an anxious look on his face.  John cursed inwardly in anticipation of having his lunch plans ruined by whatever call had just come in.

“John, it’s-”

“Save it,” Kennex cut him off, handing him the takeout.  “Back in the car and tell me where we’re going.”

Dorian turned to get back into his seat, setting the takeout on the floor between his feet.  He glanced over at John as the detective got into the driver’s seat.

“It’s the First National Bank on thirty fifth street,” Dorian said quickly, noting the immediate increase in John’s heart rate.  “Hostage situation.”

The color bled out of John’s face as the implications sank in.  He tore out of his parking space with little regard for how many traffic violations he was incurring before Dorian could say anything more.

“Is Y/N in there?”  He asked.

“I don’t know,” Dorian replied.  “I’ve been trying to reach her on her cell, but she’s not picking up.  Detective Paul says she’s not at the muster point, but she might’ve just gotten lost in the fray.”

“Damn it,” Kennex growled, white-knuckling the steering wheel as he accelerated toward the crime scene.

The drive was made in silence apart from John’s occasional curse; Dorian knew better than to try and lighten the mood.  When they reached the bank, John jumped out the door the moment the car came to a stop and jogged up to where the SWAT team was congregated on the bank’s front steps.  There were no signs of movement near any of the doors or windows.

Kennex reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, dialing your number.  It rang and rang and went straight to voicemail, so he tried again.  The second attempt was just as unsuccessful, as were the third and fourth.  He was tempted to throw his phone, but stowed it away instead, turning to Dorian.

“Can you access the surveillance footage?”  John asked.

Dorian nodded, projecting footage from the first of many cameras inside the bank.  When it showed no signs of you, he flipped to the next view.  It took a few minutes, but eventually he found an angle showing a room full of hostages.  He enlarged the projection and zoomed in, carefully scanning the footage for signs of you.  He found you at the same moment John did.

“She’s still in there,” John said thickly, running a hand through his hair.  “I’m going in.”

Two muffled gunshots rang through the air in the wake of John’s words.  His attention was drawn back to the footage which showed one of the gunmen pacing the room, brandishing his gun at hostages.  John’s heart was pounding as he watched the gunman swing the weapon around and let off another two shots.  At first it was impossible to tell where the bullets had landed, but another moment’s observation confirmed the worst.

John watched as you slumped to the ground, a dark puddle beginning to form around your shoulder.  Fear and anger coursing through him, he unholstered his gun and charged toward the building, ignoring the shouts of other officers and MXs all around.

He was going to get you back alive or die trying.


	19. Star Trek AOS / Jim Kirk x Reader / Exhaustion

You watch Jim as he sleeps peacefully, snoring softly but otherwise silent, unmoving.  He’s been like this for days on and off, and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight.  You can’t blame him, though.  He’s exhausted after Altamid.  You’re all exhausted, really, but none more than him.  Watching his ship get destroyed, losing a large part of his crew, nearly losing his own life - it’s all taken a serious toll on him.  You know he’d already been gunning for a planetside post before the whole ordeal, tired of the admiralty and of being so far from home without anywhere to lay anchor, and so it’s not surprising that he’s been nearly comatose since landing on Yorktown. **  
**

You turn your head to look away, staring off into the distance beyond your hotel room window.  You’re tired, too, right down to the bone, but you’re too restless to sleep.  Even in daylight the nightmares and flashbacks are impossible to ignore and so you stay awake chasing a panacea.  Pulling your legs up, you lean against the back of the armchair and wrap your arms around your knees, sighing wearily.

You’re not sure how long you’ve spent staring out the window by the time a hand comes to rest on your shoulder, but the aching in your joints as you shift to look up tells you it’s been a while, at least.  Jim is there, smiling tiredly with his hair sticking up at odd angles.

“Come back to bed,” he murmurs softly.  “I can order us some lunch and we can watch a holovid or two.”  
  
You nod numbly, taking the hand he offers and pulling yourself to your feet.  You follow him to the bed and give him a moment to get comfortable before crawling in beside him.  He reaches for his comm to order lunch.  As the screen lights up you see dozens of missed messages crowding the display and you know that while he puts on a brave face for you and his crew, he’s hurting inside.  If he wasn’t you know he’d have the courage to face all of the questions, to answer honestly when people asked how he was holding up.

“How are you holding up?”  You ask softly as he sets his comm aside a minute later.

You shift to look at him, resting your head on his shoulder as his arm comes around to pull you closer.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Jim replies, flashing you a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

The way he dodges your question tells you everything you need to know about just how little progress he’s made in his emotional recovery.  You sigh inwardly, snuggling in a little closer, resting a hand on his chest and feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your palm.  Between that and Dr. McCoy’s reassurance, you know that Jim’s recovered physically, at least, and you take some comfort in that.

“Just taking things one day at a time,” you reply eventually.

Jim makes a noise of agreement, and a few beats of silence pass by.  He makes a show of reaching for the remote, tuning into an old-time holovid of some sort.  His breathing feels deliberately measured beneath your palm and you tip your head up to press a kiss to the angle of his jaw as you practically feel him coming apart next to you.

“It’s going to be okay, Jim,” you say gently, reassuring yourself as much as you are him.  “I promise.”

Music and dialogue from the holovid in the background fill the void around the two of you and you send up a silent prayer for all that you both have lost.

“I know, sunshine,” Jim replies a moment later.

Though his tone is unconvinced, his agreement fills you with the first bit of hope you’ve felt in days.  As tired as you are, and as tired as you know Jim is, a small flicker of light dances at the end of the tunnel and you know that with him by your side you’ll reach it eventually.


	20. Star Trek AOS / Jim Kirk x Reader / Concussion

You watch in horror as Jim overbalances, his body pulling away from the rock wall he’s climbing.  He tries desperately to hold on but can’t get a good grip on the few and far-between hand holds along the side of the canyon.  Your heart nearly stops as he falls, plummeting the twenty or so feet to the ground and hitting the rock with sickening thud.   **  
**

Even from a distance you can tell he’s unconscious.

You curse as you rush forward, adrenaline spurring you, and drop to your knees at his side.  Reaching out, you’re tempted to tap his cheek to wake him up until you realize that might be bad news if he’s got a neck injury.  Taking a breath, you do your best to remember what you learned in your first aid classes.

Doing your best not to move him, you reach out and feel for a pulse.  There’s a strong one present, thankfully, and you breathe a sigh of relief.  Holding Jim’s head still with one hand, you reach underneath him to feel for any signs of injury.  Your fingers come away slicked with blood and you fight a wave of nausea as you wipe it away.

“Jim, wake up,” you call, squeezing his shoulder firmly.  “Open your eyes.”

No response.

Cursing again, you pull your emergency beacon from  your belt.  You don’t want to give up so soon, but you have no other choice.  You’ll just have to complete your survival training some other time.  Pressing the button, you watch as the beacon comes to life and you stay by Jim’s side, awaiting rescue.

Within moments, tendrils of light wrap themselves around the two of you and you’re spirited away to a waiting cruiser orbiting the small planet on which your class is training.  As you rematerialize, a medical team rushes forward to take Jim off to medical, leaving you still kneeling on the platform.

It takes you a few moments to gather yourself.  When you finally do, you’re led to crew quarters to clean yourself up a bit, and then you make your way down to medical.  By the time you arrive Jim has come around, though he’s still not quite cognizant.  You move closer to his bed, reaching out to take his hand.  Your touch startles him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you murmur softly.  “It’s just me.”

He mumbles wordlessly and falls back into an uneasy sleep.  Your heart aches for him, but you’re distracted as a doctor comes to join you at his bedside, taking in your condition with a quick top-to-bottom glance before turning his attention to Jim.

“He’s suffered quite a severe head injury,” the doctor explains.

You lose yourself in all of the medical terminology as he talks, not really understanding most of it.  Something about swelling and bleeding, medications and procedures and recovery times.  Your attention is caught eventually, though, when the doctor brings up a complication of the injury.

“He’s got some amnesia,” the doctor continues.  “It should resolve once the swelling goes down, but only time will tell for sure.”

Your chest constricts and your heart thuds heavily, making you feel sick and dizzy.  You nod numbly, barely feeling the doctor’s gentle, reassuring squeeze to your shoulder.  As he leaves, you move even closer to JIm’s bed, gripping his hand tightly and reaching up to brush some of his wayward hair away from his forehead.

“You’ve got to hang in there for me, Jim,” you say softly.  “Come back to me, you hear?”

His face scrunches up as he wakes again, his forehead wrinkling as he turns his head toward the sound of your voice.  He opens his eyes, taking in everything around him, and settles his gaze on you.  You smile hopefully, feeling your anxiety start to mount as his expression turns from neutral to confused.  

No amount of explanation in the world could have prepared you for his words.  Expecting his reaction doesn’t make it any easier to hear and you can feel a lump forming in your throat as he speaks.

“Who are you?”


	21. MCU / Steve Rogers x Reader / Harsh Climate

“Please, hurry.” **  
**

You hang up the phone, glancing out your kitchen window again, watching the flood waters rise outside.  Your floor is soaking wet already and the water is starting to creep ever higher in spite of all of the measures you’ve taken to keep it out.  It’s only a matter of time before things get truly dangerous.

Grabbing your flashlight off of it’s spot on the counter, you make your way toward the stairs, heading for the second floor to await rescue.  In light of the severe weather, unable to get through to emergency services, you’d called your neighbor, Clint.  His house is a few miles away and there are acres upon acres of farmland between the two of you, but he’s still the closest thing to rescue that you have on hand.  You only hope he can get to you before the water does.

You shiver as you watch for any signs of movement outside.  The driving rain makes seeing anything clearly nearly impossible, and the thunderous roar of droplets hitting the roof and windows drown out any outside noise, effectively cutting you off from the world beyond.  You consider changing into some dry clothes but decide against it, not wanting to miss any signs of anyone coming to your rescue.

The minutes tick by and the chill starts to set in.  The rising flood has long since taken out your central heating, and your clothes are sopping wet from when you’d run around securing the house in the downpour.  You long for a hot shower but settle instead for wrapping your duvet around yourself as you wait.

You’re not sure how long you sit like that, curled up in a desperate attempt at preserving your strength and body heat, but eventually you see a figure on the horizon.  As it nears, you realize it’s an inflatable rescue boat with two people in it.  The Stark Industries logo on the boat stands out even through the deluge and you pry your window open as the boat nears the front of the house.

You shield your face as best you can against the onslaught as you climb out your window and perch on the sloping roof beneath it.  It’s steep and slippery and your heart is racing as you cling to the windowsill.  The boat drifts closer and you can make out a voice over the rushing water.  It’s unfamiliar, but you’re too terrified of falling and drowning to care.

“Jump, I’ve got you!”  The man calls.

It feels like it takes forever to unclench your fingers and release your grip on the windowsill.  As you do, you feel yourself beginning to slide and you shriek as you tumble off of the roof, landing in the stranger’s arms for a brief moment before winding up in a heap on the floor of the boat, entangled with your savior.  

The boat’s engine comes to life as the two of you disentangle yourselves and the stranger leans in closer, wrapping an arm around you to keep you from being thrown from the boat as it accelerates off.  You peer up at him and he looks familiar, but you can’t quite place him with his hair slicked down completely, water running down his face.

“Are you okay?”  He asks.

You nod, leaning closer to him, sputtering as you fight to breathe without drowning in the rain.

“Hold on,” he calls over the roar of the engine.  “We’ll get you out of this soon.”

You watch as he reaches over with his free hand, pulling some sort of a harness out of a duffel bag nearby.  He helps strap you into it, tugging on the straps to ensure it fits snugly as the boat starts to slow in the middle of an open field.  Without an anchor it drifts along with the flood waters, but stays clear of any obstructions.  You start to wonder what the plan is when the rain suddenly stops and a shadow falls over the boat.  Looking up, you watch as a hatch opens in the bottom of a large aircraft of some sort and you duck out of the way just in time to avoid being hit by a heavy clip on the end of a cable.  Your rescuer grabs hold of the swinging line and affixes it to the clip on the front of your harness.  He gives the line a tug and before you can say anything, you feel yourself being whisked into the air, toward the aircraft.

It’s not a long ride up but your throat is hoarse from shrieking by the time you reach the aircraft’s loading bay.  You scramble far away from the open doors as the two men from the boat are whisked up with you, and now that it’s dry and clear you can finally see who your rescuers are.  

Clint smiles warmly from across the way as the doors close up and the other man walks over to you, offering you a hand up.  You take it gratefully and allow him to pull you to your feet.

“Looks like you’ve struck another one dumb, Cap,” Tony Stark calls from a short distance away.

Cap?

You meet the stranger’s eyes, feeling your heart skip as you realize who’s been holding you this whole time, protecting you from the elements, spiriting you away to safety with Clint at the boat’s helm.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

Steve chuckles softly, his hand lingering on yours even after you’re steady on your feet.

“Let’s get you dried off and warmed up,” he suggests softly.

You allow him to lead you toward the loading bay doors and into the belly of the aircraft.  As you disappear around the corner, you hear Tony make a comment that leaves your face flaming.

“I wonder if Cap knows that the best way to treat hypothermia is with body heat…”


	22. Star Trek AOS / Jim Kirk x Reader / Friendly Fire

You breathe hard and fast as fighting breaks out all around you.  Your crew fighting the alien crew, the aliens fighting each other; it’s chaos.  Sparks fly as bodies are thrown into consoles and the scent of blood fills the air.  Unprepared for such a violent conflict, your hand shakes as you hold your phaser up to fire if necessary. **  
**

You nearly scream in fright as hands land on your shoulders.  Spinning around, you come face to face with Jim.  He’s got some blood on his tunic and you can’t tell whether it’s his or someone else’s.

“You need to hide,” he says quickly, pulling you out of the fray.  “We’re going to get this ship secured, but you need to stay safe.”

You trip over your own feet as he directs you toward what looks like a small crawl space behind a console off to the side of the bridge.  He pushes down on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees so that you can tuck yourself into the compartment where no one can see you.  He crouches next to the opening and meets your gaze.

“It’s going to be alright,” he promises.  “Just stay here until I come back for you.”

You nod silently, earning yourself a small but genuine smile.  With that, Jim rises to his full height and disappears out of view.  You wrap your arms around yourself, still clutching your phaser tightly as you listen to the sounds of battle all around you.  You can hear bolts echoing off of walls and ceilings, but you can’t see overmuch from your hiding spot and for that you’re grateful.  When you’d joined the crew of the Enterprise as a communications officer you’d never anticipated being caught up in a battle like this one.

Time ticks by and the sounds of fighting slowly start to quiet down.  You attempt to peek out from your hiding spot once or twice but you’re too scared of being caught to actually do so.  Your adrenaline levels are so high you’re practically vibrating as you wait for Jim to come back.  You hope it won’t be much longer.

A short while later, you hear footsteps approaching.  You’re used to the sound of footfalls on the deck plating aboard the Enterprise, but here you can’t tell whether they belong to a member of your crew or to someone else.  You shut your eyes tightly, praying for them to turn away.  You’ve never shot anyone before and you’re praying you’re not going to have to now, either.

A noise on the bridge startles you and you tighten your grip on your phaser.  Sitting there in wait is slowly driving you mad and you decide that you need to do something.  The echoes of phaser fire have faded enough now that you’re almost certain it’s safe for you to crawl out and so you do.  Glancing around, you find the bridge littered with alien casualties, scorch marks and blood stains covering every surface around you.

You move forward, carefully sidestepping obstacles as you make your way toward the door.  Footsteps echo in the hall outside and you freeze, raising your phaser and holding it as steadily as you can.  Your heartbeat roars in your ears as you wait for whoever the footsteps belong to to appear.

A figure moves into your line of sight.  It’s hard to make out whether it’s friend or foe in the flickering lights and clouds of smoke and you’re so wound up that you pull the trigger on your phaser.  The figure drops to the ground without so much as a groan of agony and you creep forward.  Your heartbeat drowns out the background noise as you approach the slumped figure and you feel your vision start to gray out as a flash of gold becomes visible through the haze in the air.

“No,” you cry, dropping to your knees.

Your phaser skitters across the deck plating as you crawl toward the person you’ve just shot down.  A hand with a gold uniform sleeve lays ahead of the rest of the body, and you know by the twin braids and the broken bar between them that it’s Jim.  

“Help!”  You scream into the darkness, tears filling your vision as nausea grips you.  “The captain is down!”

You cry for aid over and over, shuffling up to Jim and resting his head in your lap.  Reaching for his neck, you press your fingers to his carotid artery and pray.  There’s a beat there, though it’s faint, and you beg the stars for someone, anyone to help.  

Your prayers are answered as you feel the golden tendrils of the transporter begin to wrap around you moments later, and you spare no thought for the kind of nightmare you’ll be facing if you don’t get him to medical in time.  You close your eyes and hold onto Jim tightly, your conscience weighing heavily on your heart.


	23. Star Trek AOS / Bones x Reader / Self-Sacrifice

The soft sound of glass clinking pulls you out of a doze.  You blink a few times to clear your vision as you orientate yourself.  You’re in a bio bed in sick bay, your body is still too warm from the fever ravaging it, and everything aches.  It’s hard to breathe, too, in spite of the cannula that’s nestled in your nose delivering a steady stream of pure oxygen.  You turn your head toward the source of the clinking sound and find Leonard sitting next to you, rolling a small vial with an opaque, white liquid inside between his hands.  The vial clinks every time it rolls over the ring he always wears on his little finger. **  
**

“What’s that?”  You ask hoarsely, too weak to raise your voice above a whisper.

Leonard looks up, his tired gaze meeting yours.

“A cure,” he says flatly.

You feel a small flicker of hope at his words, but reserve judgment.  You can tell by the way he’s fidgeting that it’s not all good news.

“So what are you waiting for?”  You ask.

Leonard sighs, running a hand through his hair and regarding the vial.  He makes a show of reaching for a hypo spray, turning it over in his hands before loading the vial into it and readying it.  He meets your gaze again and there’s apology in his eyes.

“The Ziaran doctors assured me that this would cure the virus,” he explains.  “But it’s never been tested on humans before.  Preliminary screenings show there’s a significant chance it would put a human into anaphylaxis, and I’m not sure we could pull you back from that in the state that you’re in.”

You frown.

“That doesn’t sound good,” you murmur.  “But if I take it, I have a chance, right?”

Leonard makes a wordless noise that you take to be agreement.

“Then let’s do it,” you say, your heart rate creeping up and setting off an alarm on the bio bed.

He jumps to his feet immediately, prepared for the worst, but simply reaches over and shuts the alarm off once he’s reassured himself that you’re not in any real danger.  You wait for him to settle a moment before continuing.

“I’ve got nothing to lose,” you reason.  “If I don’t take the cure, I die.  If I take the cure and I react to it, I die.  But if I take the cure and don’t react, I might make it through this.  Giving me that hypo is the only logical thing to do.”

Leonard snarls, practically throwing the hypo onto your bedside table, rounding on you.

“Logical?”  He growls.  “Don’t tell me you’re taking lessons from Spock now.  That’s ridiculous, darlin’.”

You watch him pace next to your bio bed.

“We both know I won’t survive this,” you say softly.  “I might have another few days, but nothing more.  I already feel worse than I did before I went to sleep earlier.”

Leonard curses quietly, shaking his head.

“Don’t talk like that, sweetheart,” he says lightly, his tone strained.  “You’ve still got a fighting chance with the immunity boosters we’re giving you.”

You smile sadly.

“You’re not ready to let me go,” you say gently.  “So don’t let me.  Give me a fighting chance.  And spare me the speech - I know the risks, I’m giving you my informed consent.  You can write articles in all the big medical journals once I make a miraculous recovery.”

Leonard curses again, more loudly this time.  You can practically feel the tension radiating off of him.  You can see it in the way the muscles in his neck are strained, in the way his hands clench and unclench as though they’re itching to do something, anything.

When he breaks at last, he does so spectacularly.  Unable to dam the desperation any longer, he reaches for the hypo, primes it, and presses it against his own neck, injecting its contents.  You watch in complete and utter shock as the milky liquid disappears beneath his skin and watch with bated breath as he drops the hypo and takes a seat.

“Fifteen minutes,” Leonard says shakily.  “If I’m not showing any adverse effects fifteen minutes from now, we can revisit this discussion.”

And so the two of you lapse into silence, waiting.


	24. Star Trek AOS / Bones x Reader / Drowning

The first sign of trouble comes when you hear a loud creaking noise coming from the large outflow pipe above the water pump you’re working on.  You do your best to ignore it, though, electing to continue focusing on the gasket you’ve been tasked with replacing.  It’s a big task as it’s part of the pump that supplies the science labs and has a sizeable outflow, and you hope that you don’t screw it up or it’s going to make a huge mess. **  
**

Another creak stops you in your tracks.  You look at the spot where it’s coming from and watch a small trickle of water drip from the junction between the pump and the outflow.  Reaching up, you prod at the gasket there a little bit, gasping in shock as a fissure suddenly runs up the side of the pipe, effectively rupturing the line completely, causing water to spray out.  The spray is under such high pressure that you feel the water bite into your skin as you try to put a hand over the fissure and you quickly pull it away.

You frantically reach for your comm but knock it off of the pump casing in your clumsy haste, sending it straight into the quickly forming puddle at your feet.  It pops, fizzles, and sparks a few times and blinks out, leaving you without a means of communication.  Cursing, you turn and move to the door of the compartment, attempting to open it.  It’s no use, though; the ship’s security system has already detected the leak and has locked you in.  Without access to an override panel on the outside you’re stuck.  

The room is small and very quickly filling with water.  It’s lapping at your knees as you do the only thing you can think to do and start banging on the walls and the door with a wrench, praying that someone will hear you.  You make as much noise as you can, wading in the water that’s already creeping up your thighs, sending a chill through you, but to no avail.

As the water continues to rise, tears blur your vision.  You panic, shouting, knocking on the panelling, desperate.  As the water reaches your jawline, you swear you hear footsteps just outside the door  It’s hard to tell over the rushing of water, but you continue to hope as the water starts to claim you.  There’s very little head room in the compartment and while you try to keep your face above water, it soon becomes impossible.  You hold your breath, your lungs burning, but know you can’t hold on much longer.

When you can hold on no more, you gasp, sucking in a mouthful of the icy water.  It hurts less than you thought it would, you think, but the anxiety of being unable to breathe quickly coalesces into a knot in your chest and you flail weakly as you feel unconsciousness starting to draw you.  You choke on the water as you fade into darkness, though in your last wakeful moment you swear you feel yourself being pulled along by some sort of a current.

When you wake, hours of dreamless sleep have passed by and you have no idea where you are.  You’re lying on a bed, covered by blankets, and a soft, dim light illuminates the room around you.  There’s a mask on your face - for oxygen delivery, you realize quickly - and something is touching your chest.  Blinking, you look around blearily and find Dr. McCoy standing over you, stethoscope in hand, listening to your breathing.

“Welcome back,” he says warmly, smiling as he removes his stethoscope.  “How are you feeling?”

You attempt to take a deep breath but groan as it makes your chest hurt.  You shrug.

“Alive, anyway,” you reply.

“Well, your vitals are stable and your lungs are drying up thanks to the meds,” Leonard comments.  “Looks like you’re going to make a full recovery.”

You nod.  Feeling winded, you attempt another deep breath but find that it doesn’t ease the discomfort.  You try yet again and come up short.  The feeling reminds you of the claustrophobia of the compartment you’d been trapped in and of the desperation you’d felt when you’d run out of air and had been forced to breathe water.

The monitor on your bio bed starts to wail as you begin to hyperventilate at the memories.  Your heart is racing and skipping wildly as you reach up to claw at the mask on your face, attempting to dislodge it, desperate to take a proper breath.  Leonard’s hand interrupts you, though, gently pinning your arm to your side as he leans in close to you.

“Try to relax for me, darlin’,” he says in a low, soothing tone.  “I can’t give you anything for the anxiety right now because it’ll make your breathing worse, so I need you to breathe through this with me.  Nice and slow, in and out.”

You do your best to listen as he coaches you, following along with the steady rhythm of his own breathing, and eventually the anxiety starts to ebb.  There’s a disconcerting tingling in your fingers and toes but you ignore it as you work to calm down.  Leonard rests a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

“That’s great, sweetheart,” he says with a smile.  “Keep going, just like that.”

You nod, relaxing your shoulders and breathing in slow, shallow breaths.  You slowly start to feel better and you can tell that Leonard is pleased with what the monitor is showing, too.  After a few more minutes, you’re comfortable and breathing easily once again.  Leonard moves to sit in the chair at your bedside, reaching out to hold your hand.

“Scared me to death when they carried you in here and you weren’t breathing,” Leonard admits softly.  “I thought I was going to lose you.”

You smile tiredly, squeezing his hand.

“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” you tease.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Leonard deadpans, his tone grave.

You avert your gaze.

“Sorry,” you murmur.  “Humor helps me deal with stuff.”

Leonard’s entire posture relaxes, his tone softening as he clutches your hand firmly.

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” he says with a shake of his head.  “I just got so upset I forgot that this happened to you more than anyone.  I can worry on my own damn time.”

You meet his gaze again, smiling tiredly.

“I’m okay, Len,” you say quietly.  “I’m not going anywhere.  I’ve got the best doctor in the universe to take care of me and make sure nothing happens.”

Leonard chuckles softly - genuinely - and in that moment you know that you’re going to be just fine.


	25. Star Trek AOS / Mirror Bones x Reader / Restraints

You wake with a start, roused by a metallic clanging noise.  It takes you a moment to realize the clanging was of your own making.  Heavy steel cuffs encircle both of your wrists and ankles, attached to the table beneath you by short chains.  The metal under your back is as unyielding as the cuffs and your heart rate quickly starts to climb as you wonder what’s happening.   **  
**

The last thing you remember is a nurse’s face above you, holding an oxygen mask over your mouth and nose and instructing you to breathe and count backwards from ten.  You were having surgery, a routine procedure, and Leonard had promised he would see you on the other side.

He’d said nothing about shackles.

You pull experimentally on your restraints and find that you’re stuck fast.  The bio bed you’re on starts to screech as your heart rate continues to soar, your predicament sinking in.  Is it some kind of prank?  A sick joke?  A fever dream?  Whatever it is, it’s not the least bit funny and you start to scream, calling for help.

The door across the room slides open, admitting a familiar face.  Half of it, at least, until the man you thought to be Leonard turns to face you entirely, displaying a dark red, angry scar running through the other eye, its pupil milky white and unseeing.  The door slides closed in his wake and he stalks toward you, a sinister grin pulling up the corners of his mouth.

“You’re awake,” he says lightly, his eyes flicking up to the monitor on the bio bed.  “And stable.  Mostly.”

“Who are you?”  You ask, trying and failing to pull away from him as he reaches out to trace the faint scar from your surgery, his hands cold against the skin of your abdomen.  “Where am I?”

He ignores your queries, instead pushing up the fabric of your gown to expose more of your midsection.  His touch is so unlike Leonard’s that it makes you sick, and you gasp as you take more of him in, spotting the insignia on his chest.  You’d always thought the Terran Empire was a thing of myth, but the more things sink in, the more you realize that you’re in a living nightmare.

“Looks like someone’s already started in on you,” the man - whom you refuse to refer to as anything even close to your beloved - says pointedly.  “No matter; the things I have planned for you will leave much prettier, more lasting marks.”

“What are you going to do to me?”  You ask, your voice shaking.

“I hate to say this for fear of sounding tawdry, but trust me, I’m a doctor,” he drawls.  “I just want to examine you; see what makes you tick.”

You tug at your restraints again, earning no reaction from him.  Instead, he continues to touch you methodically, palpating, examining.  You feel bile rise in your throat as he presses a stethoscope to your chest, listening to your racing heartbeat.  You fear he’s going to choke you as his hands come up to your throat, but his touch remains clinical.  

“You’re a fine specimen,” he comments, finally removing his hands.  “You’re in perfect health; ideal for my experimental work.”

Tears sting at your eyes as you wonder what kind of experimental work he’s talking about.  You turn your head, following him as he reaches for something on a cart next to the bed that you hadn’t noticed before.  A scalpel, stainless and glinting, catches the light as he raises his hand again and you start to struggle in spite of the fruitlessness of it.

“No, please,” you beg.

He takes no notice of your pleading.  Instead, he reaches for the neckline of your gown, grasping it firmly and slicing through the fabric effortlessly, allowing it to part and bare your chest to him entirely.  Tears roll down over your temples, dripping onto the cold metal beneath you.  

“Computer, create new entry in the Chief Medical Officer’s log,” Leonard dictates, leaning in over you, casting a shadow across your torso.

You can barely hear him over the rushing of blood in your ears as your heart races away.  He dictates notes about your body, your vital signs, and his proposed experiment.  You can’t understand half of what he’s saying, but you make out enough to know that unless rescue is imminent you won’t be walking away from the procedure.

“Preparing to dissect the subcutaneous tissues to expose the sternum,” he dictates.  “Patient’s heart rate remains elevated but within acceptable limits.  Making the median sternotomy incision now.”

The last thing you feel before letting out a guttural, primal scream of agony is the searing pain of the blade being pressed firmly into your skin and pulled along the length of your sternum.


	26. Star Trek AOS / Bones x Reader / Broken Ribs

You shut your eyes tightly, bracing for impact.  The shuttle is crashing, its engines having lost power due to an electromagnetic wave, and there’s nothing to be done.  Mr. Sulu has instructed you and your accompanying crew to strap into your seats and get ready for a bumpy landing.  You can tell by his tone, though, that it’s more serious than that, and you pray that if you die it’s swiftly and painlessly. **  
**

The impact is tremendous.  The sound of rock crumpling the shuttle’s hull, scraping and scratching through the metal, is so loud that you feel like your eardrums are going to pop.  The jolt you get when the shuttle grinds to a halt is fierce, and while your four-point harness keeps you from going very far, you feel your ribs crack and the muscles in your neck flare in agony.

You keep your eyes shut for a few moments after the shuttle falls still.  There’s a high-pitched alarm whining overhead and red lights flashing when you open your eyes again, but the crew looks to be relatively unscathed.

As you unclip your harness, you can hear Mr. Sulu attempting to contact the Enterprise.  The transmission is fuzzy and you can only catch every third word, but at least it’s something.  Steeling yourself, you test your arms and legs for stability a moment, glad to find nothing injured, and then climb to your feet.

You cry out in agony as your rib cage protests with a lancing pain and your breath catches.  Tears sting at your eyes as you steady yourself and you do your best to breathe in small, measured breaths.  Moving is absolute agony but you force yourself to creep around the cabin, helping crewmates out of their restraints and providing what little first aid you’re able to with the limited supplies on hand.

“They’re beaming us out,” Sulu’s voice interrupts your concentration.  “Mr. Spock has deemed the crew’s safety a priority over our mission.”

You curse, hating the thought of having to abandon sample and data collection.  You know there’s no arguing with Spock, though, and so you resign yourself.  Moving around with the other walking wounded, you prepare yourselves for transport, bracing yourself in case of an unceremonious landing on the transport pad.

Moments later, you’re swept away by threads of golden light.  You close your eyes and when you open them again you’re standing in the transporter room, surrounded by a team of medics, nurses, and doctors.  They start forward almost immediately, heading for those most obviously injured first, and you allow yourself to fade into the background and give them some room to work.

The room starts to clear quickly as your fellow crewmates are swept off to med bay and at the end, it’s just you, a couple of red shirts, and a familiar face left behind.  You smile tiredly as Leonard moves toward you, wrapping an arm around you to help support you as you brace yourself to move.

“I’m fine,” you assure him.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he says gently.  “Let’s get you down to medical.”

You groan in protest, shaking your head.

“Can’t I just go back to my quarters?”  You ask.  “Please?  You can scan me all you want, I just want my own bed right now.  The thought of lying on one of those hard bio beds right now makes me want to cry.”

You can tell by the way a muscle in his cheek twitches that Leonard isn’t happy, but eventually he relents.  You allow him to escort you to your quarters, doing your best to make as little noise as possible so he doesn’t get too worried and change his mind.  It thankfully doesn’t take long to get there and he leaves you to get settled once you arrive, rushing off to med bay to fetch a medkit.  

By the time Leonard returns, you’ve managed to strip off your uniform and crawl under the covers in your bed.  You’re lying back as comfortably as you can with the pain in your rib cage consuming your every waking thought, and you wince as Leonard takes a seat next to you, jostling you a little.

“I thought I was going to have a heart attack when we got the message about the crash,” Leonard murmurs softly as he preps a hypo.  “I was expecting the worst.”

“I’m fine, Len,” you assure him, turning your head to give him room to administer the medication.  “Honestly.”

You hiss a little at the sting of the hypo, but the pain fades almost immediately as Leonard gently massages the injection site with his thumb for a moment.  The pain in your ribs starts to ebb away, too, and you take your first normal breath since before the crash.  You let your eyes close as the medication clouds your thoughts, barely aware of the tricorder Len is running over your body in search of injuries.

“Three cracked ribs,” he announces eventually.  “And a lot of bruising.  Nothing some rest and a little TLC won’t fix.”

You smile, your eyes still closed.

“Toldja,” you murmur sleepily.

Leonard chuckles softly, reaching up to gently stroke your cheek.

“Well, you can’t blame me for worrying,” he argues softly.  “I love you, sugar.”

You hum quietly in contentment.

“I love you, too, Len.”


	27. Star Trek AOS / Scotty x Reader / "I can't walk."

A knock on your bathroom door startles you even through the haze of agony that’s engulfing you. **  
**

“Are you in there?”  Scotty’s voice calls from the other side.

You swallow thickly, wincing as even shifting enough to take a proper breath sends a wave of agony through your leg.  

“Yeah,” you call back.  “I’m here.”

A few moments of silence pass.

“Are you alright?”  He asks.  “It’s not like you to be late for breakfast.”

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly.  “Something came up.”

Another pause.

“Can I come in?”  Scotty calls.

“Yes,” you reply.

A few moments pass as Scotty overrides the lock on the door.  He glances around as he steps inside your small bathroom, his gaze eventually landing on where you’re sprawled on the shower floor, your towel thrown over you for some modicum of modesty.  He rushes forward, kneeling at your side.

“What happened?”  He asks.

“I slipped,” you reply.  “Did something to my ankle.”

He glances down toward your feet, his expression turning shocked as he takes in the swelling and disfiguration around your right ankle.

“We need to get you to medical,” he says quickly, biting his lip as he considers how best to move you.

“I can’t walk,” you say flatly.  “I was going to call for a medical team but I left my comm in the bedroom.”

Scotty nods in understanding, reaching for his own comm.  He flips it open and calls down to sick bay in a matter of moments.  With a team on its way, he turns his attention back to you, holding his hands out helplessly, looking lost.  In spite of his own first aid training, seeing you injured has stunned him.

“What can I do?”  He asks.  “How can I help?”

“Prop my foot up a little,” you reply thickly, shivering a little from the chill of being completely naked save for your towel.  “And then just hold my hand.  Please.”

He jumps into action, reaching for another towel a short distance away and wrapping it carefully around your injured ankle to help stabilize it.  It hurts more at first as he touches and moves it, but after it’s settled it feels a little better and you breathe a sigh of relief.  Finished, he returns to your side, reaching for your hand and clasping it in both of his.

“You’ll be alright,” he murmurs, reassuring himself as much as he is you.

“I’ll be fine, Monty,” you assure him, squeezing his hand.  “Really.”

He smiles, though the concern in his eyes never wavers.  Even as the medical team arrives, stabilizes your leg, and spirits you off to med bay he stays by your side, anxiety radiating off of him.  It’s not until you’ve gotten a dose of pain medication and a reassurance that everything will be taken care of from Dr. McCoy that Scotty finally calms down and stops pacing by your side.  As the doctor departs, he sits in the chair at your bedside, never once letting go of your hand.

“I think it’s really sweet that you thought it was out of character for me to be late for breakfast,” you say, slurring your words slightly; a side effect of the pain medication.  ‘You probably saved my life.”

He chuckles lightly, shaking his head.

“You would have been fine for a while longer,” Scotty teases.  “You’re tough as nails.  I couldn’t just sit there missing you, though.  Who else would sit around and listen to an old windbag like me go on about the warp core?”

You giggle, shaking your head.

“Everyone down in engineering loves you,” you argue.  “But not like I love you, so you  might be right.”

Scotty swats your arm playfully, bringing the hand he’s holding up and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.  You make a soft noise of contentment, relaxing into the bio bed beneath you as sleep starts to cloud your senses.  Scotty sets your hand back down at your side, still holding on as you start to drift off.

“I love you, Monty,” you murmur, slipping into a dream.

Though you miss his reply in your slumbering state, you sleep deeply and dreamlessly as he keeps vigil by your bedside, keeping you safe from anything else that might threaten your safety.


	28. MCU / Stephen Strange x Reader / Severe Illness

You’re only vaguely aware of the voices in the bedroom around you as you shiver, your body wracked with chills from a wicked fever.  You’re so weak and tired that you can barely lift your head, let alone get out of bed.  You’ve been feeling terrible for a couple of days, but you’ve never felt as sick as you do in the moment.

“What happened?”  Stephen asks, rushing to your side as he lays eyes on you.

“I don’t know,” Loki replies.  “We were supposed to meet today for a little sparring practice.  When she didn’t show I came by to check on her and found her like this.”

Stephen swears under his breath, reaching out to cup your face in his hands.

“Y/N, can you hear me?”  He asks.

“Yes,” you answer, slurring slightly.

You try to open your eyes but it’s almost impossible to fight the complete and utter exhaustion you’re feeling.  You cough weakly, groaning as it makes your ribs ache.

You can feel Stephen’s hands move to examine you.  He touches your forehead and his palm feels delightfully cool against your heated skin.  He gently pulls your eyelids apart to check your pupils, and you try your best to turn your head and push his hands away, but you’re weak as a kitten and he easily resists you.

“Just lie still, save your strength,” he murmurs uncharacteristically reassuringly.  “Let me take a look at you.”

You make a wordless noise of agreement, relaxing into the bed as much as you can with your body aching everywhere.  Stephen continues his examination, his fingers skillfully pressing into the column of your throat, checking your pulse at the wrist, palpating your abdomen.  He moves to pull the hem of your shirt up and you groan as the cool room air licks at your skin.

“Damn it,” he growls, running his fingertips over a few patches of a pinprick-type rash on the side of your flank.

He glances at Loki over his shoulder.

“Why didn’t you call a goddamn ambulance?”  He barks.

“You travel a lot more quickly and efficiently,” Loki answers lightly.  “Besides, I thought you might like to be apprised of the situation, which I did not realize was so dire.”

Stephen rolls his eyes, reaching up to gently cup your cheek, stroking a thumb over your cheekbone.

“We need to get you to a hospital, Y/N,” he explains.  “I’m going to open a portal and Loki’s going to carry you, okay?”

You make a noise that you hope he understands as consent and whimper softly as you feel arms wrap around your shoulders and under your knees.  Loki apologizes softly as he hefts you into his arms and you sag into his hold, closing your eyes.  

You can see the golden light of Stephen’s portal even through your closed lids and you brace yourself for the weightless feeling that comes with traveling by portal, hoping you don’t get any more nauseated.  As Loki carries you into the light, you find quite the opposite to be true.  The travel, though brief, places enough of a strain on your body to knock you out, thankfully relieving how horrible you’re feeling.

When you wake some time later, it’s in a hospital bed with Stephen at your side.  His gaze keeps flicking back and forth between you and the monitors above your bed until he notices that your eyes are open.  He gives you the smallest of smiles.

“Welcome back,” he says softly, reaching out to grasp your hand.  “You gave us quite a scare.”

You shift around in bed a little, stilling when you feel a tug on your other hand and realizing you’ve just absentmindedly attempted to dislodge an IV line.  You wrinkle your nose as you realize you’ve got an oxygen mask on, too, and you swallow thickly.

“What happened?”  You rasp.

“You’ve been incubating a nasty case of pneumonia,” Stephen explains.  “You didn’t catch it in time to start treating it and you went septic.”

You frown.

“That sounds serious,” you say quietly.

Stephen nods.

“It is,” he replies.  “But we caught it early.  A few days on IV antibiotics and you’ll be good as new.”

You groan, reaching up to push the oxygen mask off of your face, feeling reassured by the fact that you’ve got some of your strength back.  It’s still not much, though, and Stephen intercepts you, pushing your hand back down.

“That stays on until your oxygen levels come up,” he admonishes softly.  “Besides, if you behave yourself and your lab work looks good, I can probably spring you out of here sooner as long as I promise to keep an eye on you at home.”

You smile, squeezing his hand and nodding.  The thought of a little bit of TLC from your own personal physician sounds like a dream come true and you reach up with your free hand, drawing a little X on your chest.

“I’ll behave,” you promise.  “Cross my heart.”

Stephen smiles briefly and you can see the affection in his eyes.

“That’s my girl.”


	29. Star Trek AOS / Leonard McCoy x Reader / Seizure

The sound of metal instruments clanging to the ground alerts Leonard to the fact that something is amiss.  It’s not unusual; trays get knocked down and instruments are scattered on the regular when the ship’s facing a bit of turbulence.  Still, something about the noise is unsettling and so he leaves the nurses’ desk to investigate. **  
**

He pokes his head into a few of the rooms off the main wing of the med bay, finding nothing amiss.  Eventually he makes his way to the supply room and curses as he finds you on the floor in the grips of a violent seizure.  Springing into action, he pushes aside the instruments scattered around you, clearing the area of hazards.  Dropping to his knees at your side, he leans in close to make sure you’re still breathing through the seizure.  Once he’s sure that you are, he glances at the chron, counting the seconds as you continue to seize.

A minute goes by and the seizure starts to subside.  The jerking weakens until you’re lying still again your chest heaving from the exertion.  Leonard reaches up to gently cup your cheek, calling for a stretcher over his shoulder.

You wake as you’re being hefted onto the hover bed, but it takes you another ten or fifteen minutes to come back to your senses entirely.  You’ve got a wicked case of brain fog and a gauze bandage around your hand.  Glancing around for answers, you attempt to orientate yourself.  Thankfully Leonard is right by your side, making a few notes on his PADD.  He glances up to meet your gaze when he realizes you’re awake and flashes you a smile.

“Welcome back,” he says softly.  “How are you feeling?”

“Fuzzy,” you reply.  “But okay.  Did I have a seizure?”

Leonard nods, setting his PADD aside.  He perches on the edge of the bio bed beside you.

“Not an overly serious one,” he elaborates, gesturing to your bandaged hand.  “But you did manage to gouge yourself with a scalpel.”

You glance down at your hand again, flexing your fingers experimentally and wincing at the stinging there.  You know just by the fact that it isn’t already healed that the wound is too deep for a dermal regenerator to fix and you wrinkle your nose at the thought of the stitches that are undoubtedly hidden beneath the dressing.

“Do we need to adjust my meds?”  You ask, looking back up again.

“Not yet,” Leonard replies.  “But I want to keep a close eye on you.  If you have another seizure in the next couple of weeks then we can think about adjusting them.  In the meantime we’ll work on the assumption that this was just a fluke.  I’m sure it’s nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”

You laugh quietly, shaking your head.

“If I could get a good night’s sleep, maybe,” you say dryly.

Leonard frowns.

“You haven’t been sleeping well?”  He asks.

You shrug.

“The switch from Alpha to Gamma threw me for a loop,” you explain.  “I’m sure I’ll be back to sleeping normally soon, it’s just a bit of an adjustment.”

Leonard looks thoughtful for a moment.

“Changes in your sleep pattern can exacerbate seizures,” he murmurs.  “I should have thought of that when I was making up the new rotation.”

“I’m fine, Len, honestly,” you assure him, not wanting him to think you incapable.  “Like you said, I’m sure it was a fluke.”

He ponders quietly for a moment.

“I’ll tell you what,” he says.  “I’m going to give you the rest of this tour off.  That gives you four days to get adjusted to a new sleep cycle.  I think that’ll give you a fighting chance at minimizing the odds of another seizure.  Sound good?”

You breathe a sigh of relief, nodding contentedly.  

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“What for?”  Leonard asks.

“For not making a big deal out of this,” you say, averting your gaze, feeling bashful.  “For not thinking me incapable.”

Leonard smiles, reaching out to take you hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re just as valued a member of my staff as anyone else in this department,” Leonard assures you.  “Nothing will ever change that, darlin’.”


	30. Star Trek AOS / Scotty x Reader / Caregiver

“Really, Monty, you don’t have to do this,” you insist.  “I’m perfectly capable of walking myself to my quarters.” **  
**

Scotty keeps pace with you as he escorts you from the med bay to your quarters, keeping an arm around your waist to support you even though you don’t need the help.

“Dr. McCoy gave me strict instructions to keep an eye on you,” Scotty recalls.  “And that’s what I’m going to do.  I’m not letting you out of my sight for so much as a second.”

You roll your eyes as the two of you approach your quarters, pausing to let him type your entry code in.

“I’m fine,” you assure him.  “He also said it was nothing a few days of bedrest wouldn’t fix.”

“Aye,” Scotty agreed.  “And that you should keep an eye on your temperature to make sure the medication is working.”

You’re about to continue arguing as you allow him to lead you into your quarters but you gasp instead as you notice a few homey touches that weren’t there before.  There’s a mountain of blankets and cushions waiting on your couch, a PADD and a stack of old fashioned board games on the table, and a few strands of softly twinkling fairy lights hung up throughout the room.  You turn to look at Scotty as the door slides closed behind you.

“Monty!”  You exclaim.  “What did you do?!”

He beams as you turn to look at him.

“Do you like it?”  He asks.  “I figured if you’re stuck in your quarters for a few days it might be nice to liven them up a little.”

You nod enthusiastically.

“It’s beautiful!”  You reply.  “Thank you.  You really didn’t have to do this.”

“It was nothing,” Scotty says softly.  “And it kept me occupied when Dr. McCoy wouldn’t let me into isolation to see you.  All that ‘dangerous, highly contagious unknown pathogen’ nonsense.”

You chuckle as he leads you over to the couch, letting him guide you down onto it.  You recline against the cushions on one side as he swaddles you in blankets, leaving just your head exposed.  He tucks them in all around you, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

“Can I bring you anything?”  He asks.

“Just a glass of water, please,” you reply.

You smile, watching as he rushes off.  You can tell he’s worried about you in spite of your favorable prognosis, and you know keeping him busy is the best way to keep him from getting sick with worry.  He disappears into the kitchenette and reappears moments later with a glass in one hand and a thermometer he’s pilfered from medical in the other.  You watch him approach and set down your glass.

“I just left med bay,” you reason, eyeing the thermometer in his other hand.  “I really don’t think you need to check my temperature so soon.”

“Humor me,” Scotty says lightly.  “Better safe than sorry, and it’s not hurting you any.”

You shrug, sitting patiently still as he reaches out and scans your forehead, watching him as he analyzes the readout on the instrument’s screen.  He makes a wordless noise of approval and sets the thermometer aside, perching on the couch next to you and pulling your feet into his lap.  You sigh contentedly and reach for the remote, flicking on the holoscreen and tuning in to an old-time movie.

“Are you comfortable?”  Scotty asks, absentmindedly stroking your shin through the blankets.

“Very,” you reply with a tired smile.  “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, love,” Scotty says softly.  “Though I do draw the line at sappy romantic movies.  If we don’t watch something with substance I might just have to move on out of here.”

You roll your eyes, reaching for a cushion, hucking it playfully at him as the opening credits on the film start to roll.


	31. Star Trek AOS / Spock + Bones + Reader / Showdown

There are three of you and three of them.

Three aliens armed with weapons just as advanced as yours, with their phasers pointed at you and your crewmates. Three aliens ready to capture or kill you for trespassing on land you didn’t know was protected.  Three aliens with the ability to communicate and reason, but without the desire to listen.

Your hand is shaking as  you hold your phaser aloft.  A quick glance to either side reveals that both Leonard and Spock’s hands are completely steady and you hope that they’re quick enough to save the three of you, too; you know you won’t be able to shoot if necessary.  You’ve never killed anyone before and you’ve never imagined having to, either.  Your heart beats quick and heavy in your chest.

“Just let us go,” Leonard says eventually, unable to bear the silence and tension any longer.

“Our people do not suffer trespassers lightly,” one of the aliens snaps.  “You have come here without regard for our culture, our history, and now you ask for pardon?”

“It was not our intention to do harm to your people or any objects of cultural significance,” Spock explains.  “If you lower your weapons, we will withdraw without any further disturbance and make amends for any upset we have caused.”

The alien who had spoken moments before fires off a warning shot that narrowly misses your shoulder and you whimper softly, flinching.  Leonard glances over to ensure your safety while Spock continues to attempt negotiations.  You can tell the aliens are becoming increasingly more agitated the longer Spock tries to smooth things over.

“Mr. Spock, status report.”

Your gaze flickers to Spock as his communicator goes off, the captain’s voice echoing in the clearing.  The aliens’ expression grow more severe and they step in closer, each one pointing a phaser at one of your people, aiming for the heart.  You grit your teeth to keep from begging for your life, knowing it would only incur more of their ire.

“Mr. Spock, do you read me?”

One of the aliens, unable to hold back any longer, lets off another shot.  It catches Leonard’s arm, singeing the sleeve of his tunic and making him recoil and fumble his weapon.  The leader of the trio before you mistakes Leonard’s movement for threat and you watch in horror as the events unfold before you.

Phaser fire fills the air.  Zaps and flashes go off all around you and you duck instinctively, dropping your weapon.  You cover your head, tears prickling at your eyes as your crew mates and the aliens scuffle around you.  You feel a phaser bolt graze your back as you try to crawl out of the way, and guilt weighs heavily on you as Spock and Leonard attempt to wrest control of the situation.

“Mr. Spock, do you read me?”

The captain’s voice is nearly lost in the cacophony of noises all around you, but it gives you hope.  Protocol states that a mission is to be aborted and personnel are to be beamed out after three failed communications.  Another minute and you’ll be back on the Enterprise, safe and sound.

Your heartbeat roars in your ears as another bolt grazes you, catching your hip.  You want desperately to look up and see what’s become of the situation but you know it’s not safe yet.  Instead, you blindly grope around for your weapon, all the while praying you find the gumption to use it along with the phaser.

Your hand makes contact with your weapon just as familiar golden threads wrap themselves around you.  You shut your eyes tightly as you’re spirited away, relieved that the conflict is over.  Before you know it, you’re materializing on the transporter pad, deck plating solidifying beneath your knees and elbows as you appear in the same huddled position as you’d been beamed up in.

“I need a medical team, now!”  Jim calls, rushing forward.

You glance up just in time to see him mount the transporter pad.

“I’m fine, captain,” you assure him.

But he’s not heading for you.

You follow him as he rushes to your left where two crumpled bodies lay in a heap.  Your hearing grays out, your vision tunneling as you take in the sight of blood and phaser wounds.  Leonard is breathing harshly, a gaping wound in his thigh trickling blood steadily, but Spock is worse.  As the captain rolls him over, you notice the soot-rimmed hole in his tunic, right where a human heart would be.  You watch him, sitting back on your heels in horror, searching for signs of life.

A flurry of activity disrupts your focus and you struggle to see around the medics that are swarming the platform.  Hands come to rest on your arms, guiding you to your feet, pulling you toward a waiting stretcher.  Your gaze remains locked on Spock, though.  You watch desperately as his body is loaded onto another bed and you fixate on his chest as you’re wheeled toward the exit.

You see his chest rise, once, shakily, and then he’s out of sight.


End file.
